

GOPYKICIIT I)1:F0S1T 






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SIR WALTER SCOTT 
From the painting by Leslie {1824) 





UBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two oooles Received 

APK 20 1907 

. *«pyrtclii Eiitiy 

A XXCm^o. 

/Td 7c> O 

COPY B. 








COPYRIGHT, 1907 
BY SHERWIN CODY 


PREFACE 

The present selection from Ivanhoe is in no sense 
offered as a substitute for the original novel. Rather 
it will probably be most interesting to him who has 
Scott’s novel as he wrote it, on his library shelves, and 
has read it sufficiently often to have learned to love 
it. In this volume he will have a chance to reread it 
a" a single sitti in about two hours of an even- 
ing, and perhaps this bird’s eye view will give him 
quite a new idea of the story. It is hoped that such 
a person will miss few of his favorite passages. The 
ideal selection would omit none of those masterly 
descriptioTis which make Scott the great novelist 
he is; but tastes differ so much that the best we 
can hope is to please the average taste. 

There is another use to which the book may be 
put, and that is in the schoolroom, where the bulk 
of any long novel makes it too unwieldy to handle. 
Professor Moulton was one of the first to encour- 
age the idea here put into execution. In a letter 
to the editor he says : “The series raises a very 
delicate question — that of condensing classical lit- 
erature. I, am of opinion that this is an absolute 
necessity in popular education; at the same time, 
all depends upon the manner in which the editing 
is done, as to whether you obtain a product better 
than the full work for some educational purposes, 
or a product educationally valueless.” He was good 


6 


PREFACE 


enough to add: “Of course each case must be 
considered on its merits : but I am bound to say 
that the specimens of your own condensing which 
I have examined (the present selection from I van- 
hoe) were such as left nothing to be desired.” 

However, Professor Moulton made a few sugges- 
tions which have added to the value of the volume, 
and for which, as well as for his encouragement, 
the editor offers his cordial thanks. 

Sherwin Cody. 


SCOTT 


Nowadays novels are more common than any 
other kind of book. Many people read nothing else, 
besides the newspaper, and our famous authors are 
almost all novelists. But this was not always true. 
There was a time when poetry was more popular 
than fiction. The first modern novelist was Rich- 
ardson, the author of Pamela and Clarissa Harlowe; 
Henry Fielding wrote Joseph Andrews to make fun 
of Richardson, but it turned out such an interesting 
story that he wrote his famous Tom Jones, a novel 
little read today, but much admired by Scott, Dick- 
ens and Thackeray. Other novels of the same kind 
were written, and at last Goldsmith’s Vicar of 
Wakefield; but after that for thirty or forty years 
there were no novels published which became very 
popular. Every one read Scott’s long poems, such 
as The Lay of the Last Minstrel, Marmion, and The 
Lady of the Lake, which were almost as popular 
as novels are in these days. 

“The Great Unknown.” 

But in 1814 there appeared a novel called Waverley 
which seemed so much more interesting than any 
poem ever written that people could talk of nothing 
else. No author’s name was on the title-page, and 
no one knew who had written the story. They 


SCOTT 


called him “The Great Unknown,” and wondered 
how long it would be before he wrote another novel. 

They did not have to wait long. Another story 
by “the Author of Waverley’* soon came from the 
printing-press in Edinburgh, where the first great 
story had originated; and then another and another 
and another. 

What stories those were ! They told of wild 
doings on the Scottish borders in the early days of 
chieftains of clans' fighting battles for their hearths 
and homes, of princes and beggars and fair ladies 
that history tells us once had really lived. There 
were also tales of England in the Middle Ages, of 
Richard the Lion Hearted and the Knights Templars 
and Robin Hood; and tales of France, and of the 
Crusades to the Holy Land in the far East. Those 
novels were written by the hand of a wizard (they 
called him “the wizard of the North”), for they 
made the reader see as with his own eyes the bright 
and glittering armor, the long lines of knights and 
squires going to the tourney, the wild green woods 
where Robin Hood and his men lived and hunted; 
they dazzled his eyes with the royal processions of 
Queen Elizabeth, and showed him the beautiful and 
romantic figure of Mary Queen of Scots; they told 
the joys and tragedies of humbler women who loved 
and suffered for their love, and men who did dar- 
ing and noble deeds for those for whom they cared. 
History no longer consisted of dry dates and rec- 
ords of battles and names of kings and queens ; but 
the men and women long dead seemed to come troop- 
ing back in the pages of the great writer, and the 


LIFE 


9 


world loved and grieved and hated and rejoiced 
with all those people long since dead and gone. No 
wonder the man who could do all this with his pen 
became to every one “The Great Unknown,” the 
wonder and the envy of all the rest of the literary 
world. 

For twelve years the mystery was maintained, and 
then all the world came to know that “the Author 
of Waverley’' was Walter Scott, who had already 
been honored by being knighted as Sir Walter Scott. 
To us he is the Great Known; but we love him and 
admire him even more because through the biog- 
raphy written of him by his son-in-law, John Lock- 
hart, we know him as a man and as a writer so well. 

Came of a Family of Scotch Knights. 

Walter Scott came of a family of Scotch knights 
and lairds, some of whom were wild enough in 
their day. One of his ancestors, known as Auld 
Watt of Harden, was a chieftain whose doughty 
deeds he himself often sung in ballads, and his beau- 
tiful wife, the Flower of Yarrow, was no less fa- 
mous. Walter’s great-grandfather was known as 
Beardie because he wore his beard long and ragged 
and quite untrimmed in sorrow for the fate of Bon- 
nie Prince Charlie, the pretender to the English 
throne; and Beardie must have had some narrow 
escapes from being hung as a traitor, for those were 
indeed perilous times. His grandfather was Robert 
Scott, a younger son intended for a sailor; but he 
was shipwrecked on his first voyage and decided to 
give up the sea. Robert’s father turned him out 


10 


SCOTT 


to shift for himself; but a relative gave him the 
lease of a farm. As Robert had no money to buy 
sheep and other stock for it, a poor shepherd who 
had saved up thirty pounds offered to lend him the 
money for the purpose. They went together to a 
fair; but while the shepherd was looking for a good 
bargain in sheep, Robert was examining a horse. 
When the shepherd came back he found that the 
young fellow had spent the whole thirty pounds on 
a fine riding horse; so they went home without the 
sheep. But Robert was a splendid horseman, and 
showed the paces of his horse to some of his aris- 
tocratic friends to such advantage that he soon sold 
it at a large profit, and then went and bought the 
sheep, ever after living the life of a hard-working 
and prudent farmer. 

Meiklemouth Meg. 

There is one more story of Scott’s ancestors, 
which is no doubt largely imaginary, but it shows 
of what stock the border minstrel came. A cer- 
tain Sir William Scott, in the direct line of Sir 
Walter’s ancestry a good many generations back, 
w^as something of a freebooter like Robin Hood. 
On one occasion he plundered the estate of his 
neighbor Sir Gideon Murray; but he was caught 
and brought back to Sir Gideon’s castle to be 
hanged. “The Lady Murray (agreeably to the cus- 
tom of all ladies in ancient tales) was seated on the 
battlements, and descried the return of her husband 
with the prisoners. She immediately inquired what 
he meant to do with the young Knight of Harden, 


LIFE 


11 


which was the familiar title of Sir William Scott. 
“Hang the robber, assuredly,” was the answer of 
Sir Gideon. “What !” answered the lady, “hang 
the handsome young knight of Harden when I have 
three ill-favored daughters unmarried! No, no. Sir 
Gideon! We’ll force him to marry our Meg.” Now 
tradition says that Meg Murray was the ugliest 
woman in the four counties, and that she was called 
in the homely dialect of the time Meiklemouth Meg. 
Sir Gideon, like a good husband and a tender 
father, entered into his wife’s sentiments, and prof- 
fered to Sir William the alternative of becoming 
his son-in-law or decorating with his carcass the 
kindly gallows of Elibank. The lady was so very 
ugly that Sir William, the handsomest man of his 
time, positively refused the honor of her hand. 
Three days were allowed him to make up his mind; 
and it was not until he found one end of a rope 
made fast to his neck and the other knotted to a 
sturdy oak bough that his resolution gave way and 
he preferred an ugly wife to the literal noose. It 
is said they were afterward a very happy couple. It 
is also said that all their descendants, including the 
great Sir Walter himself, inherited from “Meikle- 
mouthed Meg” her big mouth. 

Scott’s father, also named Walter, was a “Writer 
to the Signet,” the Scotch name for a counselor-at- 
law. He was a handsome man with polished man- 
ners and a sweet temper. His wife was equally 
distinguished, and they had a family of twelve chil- 
dren, only five of whom lived to grow up. Of these, 


12 


SCOTT 


two were older than Walter and two younger, one 
of the younger being a sister. 

Lame From Childhood. 

Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh August 15, 
1771. He was a lively little boy. One night his nurse 
had a hard time to catch him and put him to bed. 
The next morning he was found to have a teeth- 
ing fever, and three days later when the nurse went ^ 
to bathe him she found that his right leg was par- j 
alyzed. 

That sad catastrophe affected the whole of his 
early life. He did in time become able to use his 
leg again, and as he grew up, though he was lame, 
he became a famous walker and mountain-climber. 
Many doctors were consulted; but the only good 
advice given seemed to be that of his grandfather, 
who said he should be sent out to the Scott farm at 
Sandy-Knowe, for which the grandfather, Robert 
Scott, had bought those sheep so many years be- 
fore. Here they did many things to cure his leg, 
among other things wrapping him naked in the warm 
and bloody skin of a sheep every time one was 
butchered. Scott says he remembers lying in this 
covering on the parlor floor at the farm-house, 
while his grandfather, a venerable old man with 
white hair, used every excitement to make him 
crawl. He was a “sweet-tempered bairn, a darling 
with all about the house,” and he liked nothing bet- 
ter than to be carried on the backs of the young 
work girls who milked the ewes, or to spend the 
day with the old shepherd who had charge of all 


LIFE 


13 


. the flocks. When the day was fine they would lay 
him down beside the shepherd, among the crags 
or rocks round which he fed his sheep. He was so 
eager to climb about that he soon began to try to 
use his leg; and this in time was what really cured 
him. There is a story of his having been forgotten 
, one day among the knolls when a thunderstorm 
came on; and his aunt, suddenly recollecting his 
situation, and running out to bring him home, is 
said to have found him lying on his back. Trapping 
^ his hands at the lightning and crying out “Bonny! 
bonny!” at every flash. 

A Precocious Lad. 

They took him to Bath, England, where he seems 
to have picked up the English accent, which is quite 
different from the Scotch. On his return to his 
father’s house at Edinburgh at the age of six he 
met a lady named Mrs. Cockburn, who thought him 
a real genius of a boy. Says she in a letter: 

“* * * I last night supped in Mr. 

Walter Scott’s [the father]. He has the most ex- 
traordinary genuius of a boy I ever saw. He was 
reading a poem to his mother when I went in. I 
made him read on; it was the description of a ship- 
wreck. His passion rose with the storm. ‘There’s 
the mast gone,’ says he; ‘crash it goes! — they will 
all perish!’ After his agitation, he turns to me. 
‘That is too melancholy,’ says he; ‘I had better read 
you something more amusing.’ I preferred a little 
chat, and asked his opinion of Milton and other 
books he was reading, which he gave me wonder- 


14 


SCOTT 


fully. One of his observations was: ‘How strang^ 
it is that Adam, just new come into the world, shoulc^ 
know everything — that must be the poet’s fancy,1):^t 
says he. But when he was told he was created per-iir 
feet by God, he instantly yielded. When taken tofe 
bed last night, he told his aunt he liked that ladyjj^ 
‘What lady.?’ says she. ‘Why, Mrs. Cockburn; for 
think she is a virtuoso like myself.’ ‘Dear Walter,TN 
says Aunt Jenny, ‘what is a virtuoso?’ ‘Don’t ye^ 
know? Why, it is one who wishes and will knowfi 
everything.’ " 

“Now, sir, you will think this a very silly story.p 
Pray, what age do you suppose this boy to be ?i| 
Name it now, before I tell you. Why, twelve or® 
fourteen. No such thing; he is not quite six years|| 
old. [He was, in fact, six years and three months.] P 
He has a lame leg, for which he was a year at Bath,|. 
and has acquired the perfect English accent, which! 
he has not lost since he came, and he reads like al 
Garrick. You will allow this an uncommon exotic.” il 

And so he grew up. Though lame, he was asi 
lively and active as any of them. He was sent! 
to school, and led the battles which the boys in! 
his square fought with the poorer boys in the next 
square. Another lady has also left a good descrip-, 
tion of his boyhood. Mrs. Churnside as a girl 
attended one of the schools where Walter went. 
Says she: 

“His imagination was constantly at work, and he 
often so engrossed the attention of those who learnt 
with him that little could be done — Mr. Morton . 
himself being forced to laugh as much as the little 


LIFE 


15 


olars at the odd turns and devices he fell upon; 
iW he did nothing in the ordinary way, but, for 
mple, even when he wanted to ink his pen, 
would get up some ludicrous story about sending 
his doggie to the mill again. He also used to inter- 
est us in a more serious way, by telling us the vi- 
sions, as he called them, which he had lying on the 
floor or sofa, when kept from going to church on 
a Sunday by ill-health. Child as I was, I could 
I not help being highly delighted with his descrip- 
tion of the glories he had seen — his misty and 
sublime sketches of the regions above, which he 
had visited in his trance. The marvellous seemed 
to have such power over him, though the mere 
o^spring of his imagination, that the expression 
of his face, habitually that of genuine benevolence, 
mingled with a shrewd and innocent humour, changed 
greatly while he was speaking of these things, and 
showed a deep intenseness of feeling, as if he were 
awed even by his own recital. I may add, that in 
Hiwalking he used always to keep his eyes turned 
i^dbwnward as if thinking, but with a pleasing ex- 
pression of countenance, as if enjoying his thoughts.” 

Fond of Riding and Walking. 

ID 

He went to high-school and college, and was a 
fading member in two literary societies. But best of 
ail he liked excursions into the country, climbing 
over crags and up mountain sides where others less 
during never ventured to go. A friend of his says 
that more than once on their excursions they pro- 
J*X)aed getting a ladder to help him down from some 


16 


SCOTT 


narrow footing on the rocks ; but he always man- < 
aged to find a way to climb either up or down. 

When at last he became a lawyer himself, and 
was appointed sheriff in a country district, he was 
still as fond as ever of riding or walking on long 
trips into the border country; and it was his especial 
delight to learn from all the old women and others 
the ballads they knew telling of deeds of the Scotch 
borders. He was a student of history, and every 
piece of old armor, every moss-covered castle wall, 
every famous battlefield he visited in his wander- 
ings, made him call up in mind the people who had 
worn the armor or fought over the castle ram- 
parts, or shed their blood for home and country 
on the battlefield. To be a minstrel himself, to 
sing and tell of the famous men and women, and 
all their life and adventure in the past, became his 
dearest wish. 

Generous Hearted. 

Scott was a wonderfully generous, large-hearted 
man. ' He helped his friends whenever he could, and 
seemed really to like to do it; and he was always 
the peacemaker. For this reason he had very 
few enemies and many attached friends. Among 
his early friends he had two nicknames, “Colonel 
Grogg” and “Duns Scotus.” Once at a convivial 
banquet he said something which he thought 
might have given offense to his friend William 
Clerk. The next morning Clerk received the fol- 
lowing letter, in which Scott very cleverly manages 
to use both his familiar names: 


LIFE 


17 


“Dear Baronet — I am sorry to find that our 
friend Colonel Grogg has behaved with a very 
undue degree of vehemence in a dispute with you 
last night, occasioned by what I am convinced 
was a gross misconception of your expressions. 
As the Colonel, though a military man, is not too 
haughty to acknowledge an error, he has commis- 
sioned me to make his apology as a mutual friend, 
which I am convinced you will accept from yours 
ever, 

“Duns Scotus."' 

“Given at Castle Duns, Monday.” 

It was through his generosity that many of his 
misfortunes, as well as much of his good fortune, 
in later life came about. He had for a time gone 
to school in Kelso, a small country village, where 
he became acquainted with a boy named James 
Ballantyne. After Scott went away they did not 
meet until both had grown up. Both entered the 
legal profession, and one day were fellow passen- 
gers on a stagecoach going up from Edinburgh 
to Kelso. They renewed their acquaintance, and 
spent the time singing ballads and telling stories. 
Ballantyne had not succeeded in law and was 
going to start a weekly paper at Kelso. Scott be- 
came interested, and later asked him to print off 
some of his ballads to show what he could do. They 
wbre so well printed that when Scott (then thirty- 
one years old) decided to publish the ballads he had 
picked up about the countr5% under the title of 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, he gave Bal- 


18 


SCOTT 


lant 3 -ne the printing job. This undertaking was so 
successful that Ballantyiie moved up to Edinburgh, 
and Scott became his secret partner in the estab- 
lishment of the famous “Border Press.” 

Scott had at this time but a small income from 
his law practice; but he was sheriff of Selkirk 
with a salary of about $1,500 a year, and later be- 
came clerk in the Sessions Court with a salary of 
over $6,000 a year. His wife also had an income 
of $2,500 a year; so he thought he could afford to 
lend his friend a few thousand pounds, as security 
for which he received an interest in the business. 
Pie also worked hard to get printing for the new 
press, but kept his connection with it a strict 
secret. 

Publishes His First Book at Thirty-four. 

Until Scott was nearly thirty-four he was little 
more than a well-to-do Scotch gentleman with a 
taste for antiquities and poetry. He had published 
a number of books of which the Border Minstrelsy 
alone was successful; and that was not his own 
work, for he was little more than its editor. But 
at the end of January, 1805, he published a long 
poem entitled The Lay of the Last Minstrel. Per- 
haps he fancied himself to be the minstrel, and he 
celebrated the deeds of Scottish chieftains in much 
the style that Horner did those of the kings of 
Greece in the Iliad and Odyssey more than three 
thousand years ago. 

This poem, in which we find the clash and roar 
of war, as well as picturesque scenes by highland 


LIFE 


19 


hearths, was so full of glowing romance and tender 
chivalry, of the fire that inspires brave hearts, and 
the ringing words that strike the ear so musically, 
that it was immediately read all over the English 
reading world. It was a Scotch song, but it was 
liked as well in England as in Scotland, and as well 
in America as upon the British Isles. After the 
first edition was sold, Scott disposed of the copy- 
right for $ 2 , 500 ; but the publishers made a fortune 
out of it. 

Success did not spoil him. He remained the same 
generous, humble-minded man he had always been. 
But he was pleased to be reckoned among his coun- 
try’s poets. He was a veritable Scottish minstrel. 

Three years later, in 1808 , he published another 
long poem, entitled “Marmion’' in many respects 
his greatest poem. It contained the famous descrip- 
tion of the battle of Flodden Field. At this time the 
English were at war with Napoleon in Spain, and 
one of Scott’s friends, a captain at the head of his 
company, having received a copy of the poem, knelt 
one day among his men as they lay behind a little 
hill waiting for the enemy, and read to them the 
description of the battle. How many battle poems 
would it be safe to read on a real field of battle? 

Scott sold the copyright of this poem for a thou- 
sand guineas (about five thousand dollars), and 
received the money long before he had finished 
writing it. It proved even more successful than 
the Lay of the Last Minstrel. The Lady of the 
Lake was the next great poem, published in 1810 , 
just before Scott was forty. It was more popular 


20 


SCOTT 


even than the first two, “Crowds set off to view 
the scenery of Loch Katrine, till then comparatively 
unknown; and as the book came out just before 
the season for excursions, every house and inn in 
that neighborhood was crammed.” For years the 
pilgrimages continued. This marked the topmost 
pinnacle of Scott’s fame as a poet. Another long 
poem, entitled Rokeby, was published early in 
1813, and still another entitled The Lord of the 
Isles, in 1815, but they were not then and never 
have been as popular as the earlier ones. 

The Ballantynes. 

During all this time Scott had been getting deeper 
and deeper into business. James Ballantyne and 
his brother, John Ballantyne, were Scott’s business 
agents in all his literary projects; and besides the 
printing firm of James Ballantyne & Co., a publish- 
ing firm known as John Ballantyne & Co. was 
started. The printing business was always success- 
ful and profitable ; but the publishing business 
nearly ruined Scott. 

James Ballantyne was a short, thick, but well 
built man, with a low voice, some literary taste 
and judgment, and real skill in the printing busi- 
ness, A friend named Leyden hits him off ad- 
mirably in a letter to Ballantyne himself, as follows : 
“Methinks I see you with your confounded black 
beard, bull-neck, and upper lip turned up to your 
nose, while one of your eyebrows is cocked per- 
pendicularly, and the other forms pretty well the 


LIFE 


21 


base of a right-angled triangle, opening your great 
gloating eyes, and crying. But, Leyden! ! V* 

John was shorter than James, and was lean as a 
scarecrow, and he had a sharp treble voice between 
a croak and a squeak. But he was always gay and 
full of his jokes and jests and good-humored droll- 
ery. Says Mr. Lockhart, “A more reckless, thought- 
less, improvident adventurer never rushed into the 
serious responsibilities of business; but his clever- 
ness, his vivacity, his unaffected zeal, his gay fancy 
always seeing the light side of everything, his im- 
perturbable, good humour, and buoyant elasticity of 
spirits made and kept him such a favorite, that I 
believe Scott would as soon have ordered his dog 
to be hanged, as have harbored, in his darkest hour 
of perplexity, the least thought of discarding 
‘jocund Johnny.’ ” 

There was another man with whom Scott was 
connected in business, and that was Archibald Con- 
stable. He was a much greater man than the Bal- 
lantynes, and a daring and successful publisher. 
He published many of Scott’s works; and it was 
his failure in business that finally caused Scott’s 
ruin. 

Waverley. 

At the end of 1813 the publishing business of Bal- 
lantyne & Co. was in such a bad way that not only 
both the Ballantynes but Scott as well were on the 
brink of financial ruin. Something must be done 
to save the day, and Scott tried to do it. In an 
old cabinet, while looking for fishing tackle, he 


22 


SCOTT 


found the beginning of a novel entitled Waverlcy, 
which he had begun eight years before, and had laid 
aside because James Ballantyne, to whom he showed 
what he had written, thought it unworthy of the 
great poet. But now he read it over, thought better 
of himself, and finished it in three weeks. 

To write two-thirds of a novel in three weeks, es- 
pecially one as long as Waverley, was a feat no 
novelist had before performed and few since have 
equalled. Lockhart tells a remarkable story of 
the tireless energy with which Scott worked, which 
must be repeated in Lockhart’s own words : 

“Happening to pass through Edinburgh in June, 
1814, I dined one day with a friend whose residence 
was then in George Street, situated very near and 
at right angles with North Castle Street (in which 
was Scott’s house). It was a party of very young 
persons, most of them, like myself, destined for the 
bar of Scotland, all gay and thoughtless, enjoying 
the first flush of manhood, with little remembrance 
of the yesterday, or care of the morrow. When 
my companion’s worthy father and uncle, after see- 
ing two or three bottles go round, left the juveniles 
to themselves. The weather being hot, we adjourned 
to a library which had one large window looking 
northwards. After carousing for an hour or more, 
I observed that a shade had come over the aspect 
of my friend, who happened to be placed immedi- 
ately opposite to myself, and said something that 
intimated a fear of his being unwell. ‘No,’ said 
he, ‘I shall be well enough presently if you will 
only let me sit where you are, and take my chair; 


LIFE 


23 


for there is a confounded hand in sight of me here, 
which has often bothered me before, and now it 
won’t let me fill my glass with a good will.’ I rose 
to change places with him accordingly, and he 
pointed out to me this hand which, like the writing 
on Belshazzar’s wall, disturbed his hour of hilarity. 
‘Since we sat down,’ he said, ‘I have been watching 
it — it fascinates my eye — it never stops — page after 
page is finished and thrown on the heap of manu- 
script, and still it goes on unwearied — and so it 
will be till candles are brought in, and God knows 
how long after that. It is the same every night — 
I can’t stand a sight of it when I am not at my 
books.’ ‘Some stupid, dogged, engrossing clerk, 
probably/ exclaimed myself or some other giddy 
youth in our society. ‘No, boys,’ said our host, ‘I 
well know what hand it is — ’t is Walter Scott’s.’ ” 

Guy Mannering Written in Six Weeks. 

The second novel, Guy Mannering, was written in 
six weeks, about Christmas time the next year, just 
after Scott had completed his last long poem, “The 
Lord of the IslesT It was written to make money 
to help Ballantyne and to pay his ever increasing 
expenses. He called this “refreshing the machine.” 

And so they came, one after the other, a long one 
and two or three short ones every year. They 
were read by every one, they were the wonder of 
the world, and no one (except three of Scott’s 
friends) knew who was the author. There were 
years in which Scott received fully one hundred 
thousand dollars, and the sums piled up higher and 


24 


SCOTT 


higher every year until there was a time at the 
end when they far exceeded this sum, and could he 
have saved the money he would have become a 
millionaire. 

To a man of Scott’s large heart and generous 
temper, half the pleasure in all this success and 
wealth was in sharing it with his friends, and 
especially with his wife and children. When scarcely 
more than a boy he had met a young lady one 
Sunday evening after church. It began to rain, and 
he offered her his umbrella. She accepted the offer 
and he escorted her home. Their friendship grew 
and ripened. He expected some day to marry her, 
though she belonged to a greater and wealthier 
family than his. He was poor, and he must first be 
sure of his living. He waited patiently; but sud- 
denly, after years of cherished hope, he heard she 
had married another. How deeply his heart was 
wounded we can only guess from the slight remarks 
he made years afterward; but those words hint at 
a bitterness that was never forgotten. Not long 
after, he met and married Margaret Charlotte Char- 
pentier, the daughter of a French refugee. She was 
bright and sweet, and made an excellent wife and a 
good mother. They . had two sons and two daugh- 
ters. 

Scott loved his children and they loved him. He 
taught them first of all the love of truth ; and next 
skillful horsemanship; for, said he, “without cour- 
age there cannot be truth ; and without truth there 
can be no other virtue.” Moreover, they never 


LIFE , 25 

heard him speak of his own greatness in a boasting 
way. 

James Ballantyne relates that soon after the pub- 
lication of the Lady of the Lake he went into 
the library at Scott’s house, where he found Scott’s 
little daughter Sophia. “Well, Miss Sophia, how 
do you like the Lady of the Lake?” he inquired. 
Her answer was given with perfect simplicity — 
“Oh, I have not read it; papa says there’s nothing 
so bad for young people as reading bad poetry.” 
One afternoon Scott’s eldest boy came home from 
school with tears and blood hardened together on 
his cheeks. “Well, Wat,” said his father, “what 
have you been fighting about today?” With that the 
boy blushed and hung his head, and at last stam- 
mered out-^that “he had been called a lassie.” “In- 
deed!” said Mrs. Scott, “this was a terrible mis- 
chief, to be sure!” “You may say what you please, 
mamma,” Wat answered roughly, “but I dinna think 
there’s a waufer (shabbier) thing in the world than 
to be a lassie, to sit boring at a clout.” They soon 
found out that one of the other boys had nicknamed 
him “The Lady of the Lake.” Never having heard 
of his father’s famous poem, he thought it meant 
some imputation on his prowess. 

As wealth came to him, Scott began to buy land 
and to build a castle which in its way is almost one 
of the wonders of the world. It had “a tall tower 
at either end, — sundry zigzag gables, ... a myriad 
of indentations and parapets and machiolated eaves; 
most fantastic waterspouts; labelled windows, not 
a few of them painted glass ; and stones carved with 


26 


SCOTT 


innumerable heraldries.” The interior was furnished 
in the same knightly style, with old pieces of armor, 
ancient tapestries, and carved furniture of rare 
beauty. And about all were broad acres and beauti- 
fully kept grounds.* Here at Abbotsford he kept 
open house, and had a hearty welcome for any one 
who came, whether friend or stranger. He almost 
fancied himself a feudal baron in a medieval castle. 

The Failure of Constable. 

When he was at the height of all his splendor 
and wealth, suddenly he heard that Constable had 
failed, and with him the printing business of James 
Ballantyne, leaving debts of £ 117 , 000 , for which as 
partner he was liable. He might not have paid 
•them had he chosen to become a bankrupt ; but 
honorably and bravely he declared he would pay 
them all. Though broken in health because of the 
vast amount of work he had done, he set at the 
gigantic task at once. He completed his life of 
Napoleon, for which he received £ 18 , 000 , and wrote 
Woodstock, for which he was paid £8,000 more. In 
an incredibly short time he had paid off £ 60 , 000 ; 
but his health was gone. He tried to write on, but 
Count Robert of Paris and Castle Dangerous were 
failures. He started for Italy in the hope that he 
might regain his strength ; but he lived but a short 
time. He died in 1832 , a man but little over sixty, 
yet he died as he had lived, and his last words have 
become almost a proverb. “Lockhart,” said he to 
his son-in-law, “I may have but a minute to speak 
to you. My dear, be a good man, — be virtuous, — 


LIFE 


27 


be religious, — be a good man. Nothing else will 
give you any comfort when you come to lie here.” 

' Sherwin Cody. 



TWO HOURS WITH IVANHOE* 


(Ivanhoe, a romantic tale of chivalry in England 
during the Middle Ages. 

Scene — That great forest in the center of En- 
gland, between Sheffield and Doncaster, made famous 
by many hard fought battles in the Wars of the 
Roses, and by the exploits of Robin Hood and his 
band of gallant outlaws. 

Time — The reign of Richard I, called the Lion- 
hearted, just as he is returning to England after his 
long captivity. 

Not many generations had passed since the Nor- 
man conquest, and the Saxons were still restive 
under the yoke of the haughty barons. The events 
of the story largely turn upon the friction between 
conqueror and conquered.) 

I. 

GATHERING FOR THE FRAY. 

(In the first chapter we are presented with two 
characters, who, though humble, are not the least 
important in the progress of the story. “The eldest^ 


‘Paragraphs in parentheses are in the language of the 
editor, not that of the original author. The spelling and 
punctuation are those of the original. 


30 


SCOTT 


of these men had a stern, savage, and wild aspect.” 
He was clad simply in the tanned skin of an animal, 
which had an opening at the top for his head and 
was gathered at the waist by a belt secured by a 
brass buckle. About his neck was a brass collar, 
soldered fast so that it could not be removed 
without a file. On this was engraved in Saxon 
letters, “Gurth, the son of Beowulph, is the born 
thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood.” 

“Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth’s oc- 
cupation, was seated a person abouit ten years 
younger in appearance, whose dress was of better 
materials and of a more fantastic description. His 
jacket had been stained of a bright purple hue, upon 
which there had been some attempt to paint gro- 
tesque ornaments in different colors. To the jacket 
he added a short cloak, which scarcely reached 
half way down his thighs ; it was of crimson cloth, 
though a good deal soiled, lined with bright yellow ; 
and as he could transfer it from one shoulder to the 
other, or at his pleasure draw it all around him, its 
width, contrasted with its want of longitude, formed 
a fantastic piece of drapery. He had thin silver 
bracelets upon his arms, and on his neck a collar of 
the same metal, bearing the inscription, ‘Wamba, the 
son of Witless, is the thrall of Cedric of Rother- 
wood.’ . . . He was provided also with a cap, 
having around it more than one bell about the size 
of those attached to hawks, which jingled as he 
turned his head to one side or the other.” He was 
Cedric’s jester, as might have been seen in the 


IVANHOE 31 

half-crazcd, half-cunning expression of his coun- 
tenance, as well as by his cap and bells. 

It was near nightfall, a thunderstorm was coming 
on, and these two found themselves with the herd 
of swine in the depths of the forest. As is the 
custom in romantic novels, they were soon over- 
taken by a party of horsemen. Of the two fore- 
mo.st riders, one was an ecclesiastic of high rank, 
a richly dressed, somewhat corpulent monk, riding 
on a well-fed, ambling mule.) 

The companion of the church dignitary was a 
man past forty, thin, strong, tall, and muscular; an 
athletic figure, which long fatigue and constant ex- 
ercise seemed to have left none of the softer part 
of the human form, having reduced the whole to 
brawn, bones, and sinews, which had sustained a 
thousand toils, and were ready to dare a thousand 
more. His head was covered with a scarlet cap, 
faced with fur, of that kind which the French call 
mortier, from its resemblance to the shape of an 
inverted mortar. His countenance was therefore 
fully displayed, and its expression was calculated 
to impress a degree of awe, if not of fear, upon 
strangers. High features, naturally strong and pow- 
erfully expressive, had been burnt almost into Negro 
blackness by constant exposure to the tropical sun, 
and might, in their ordinary state, be said to 
slumber after the storm of passion had passed away; 
but the projection of the veins of the forehead, 
the readiness with which the upper lip and its thick 
black moustaches quivered upon the slightest emo- 
tion, plainly intimated that the tempest might be 


12 


SCOTT 


again and easily awakened. His keen, piercing, 
dark eyes told in every glance a history of diffi- 
culties subdued and dangers dared, and seemed to 
challenge opposition to his wishes, for the pleasure 
of sweeping it from his road by a determined exer- 
tion of courage and of will; a deep scar on his 
brow gave additional sternness to his countenance 
and a sinister expression to one of his eyes, which 
had been slightly injured on the same occasion, and 
of which the vision, though perfect, was in a slight 
and partial degree distorted 

He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but 
a strong hackney for the road, to save his gallant 
war-horse, which a squire led behind, fully accoutred 
for battle, with a chamfron or plaited head-piece 
upon his head, having a short spike projecting from 
the front. On one side of the saddle hung a short 
battle-axe, richly inlaid with Damascene carving ; 
on the other the rider’s plumed head-piece and hood 
of mail, with a long two-handed sword, used by the 
chivalry of the period. A second squire held aloft 
his master’s lance, from the extremity of which flut- 
tered a small banderole, or streamer, bearing a cross 
of the same form with that embroidered upon his 
cloak. He also carried his small triangular shield, 
broad enough at the top to protect the breast, and 
from thence diminishing to a point. It was covered 
with a scarlet cloth, which prevented the device from 
being seen.” 

(Behind follow their squires and attendant?. They 
are Prior Aymer, of Jorvaulx Abbey, and the 
knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert. of the order of 


IVANHOE 33 

Knights Templars, lately returned from the Holy 
Land. 

They inquire the way to Cedric’s, where they in- 
tend to ask a night’s lodging. Wamba, the fool, 
wants no Normans intruding upon his Saxon thane, 
and bids them turn to the left, when they come 
to a certain sunken cross where four roads meet. 
Fortunately for them they find at the foot of this 
sunken cross a man who proves a better guide. 
He calls himself a Palmer just returned from 
Palestine ; but as he was brought up in those 
parts he knows every foot of the forest, and soon 
takes them to Rotherwood.) 

II 

THE HALL OF THE SAXON. 

In a hall, the height of which was greatly dis- 
proportioned to its extreme length and width, a 
long oaken table formed of planks rough-hewn 
from the forest, and which had scarcely received 
any polish, stood ready prepared for the evening 
meal of Cedric the Saxon. The roof, composed of 
beams and rafters, had nothing to divide the apart- 
ment from the sky excepting the planking and 
thatch ; there was a huge fireplace at either end of 
the hall, but, as the chimneys were constructed in 
a very clumsy manner, at least as much of the 
smoke found its way into the apartments as escaped 
by the proper vent. The constant vapour which 
this occasioned had polished the rafters and beams 


34 


SCOTT 


of tlie low-browed hall, by encrusting them with 
a black varnish of soot. On the sides of the 
apartment hung implements of war and of the 
chase, and there were at each corner folding doors, 
which gave access to other parts of the extensive 
building. 

The other appointments of the mansion partook 
of the rude simplicity of the Saxon period, which 
Cedric piqued himself upon maintaining. The floor 
was composed of earth mixed with lime, trodden 
into a hard substance, such as is often employed 
in flooring our modern barns. For about one 
quarter of the length of the apartment the floor 
was raised by a step, and this space, which was 
called the dais, was occupied only by the principal 
members of the family and visitors of distinction. 
For this purpose, a table richly covered with scar- 
let cloth was placed transversely across the plat- 
form, from the middle of which ran the longer 
and lower board, at which the domestics and inferior 
persons fed, down towards the bottom of the hall. 
The whole resembled the form of the letter T, 
or some of those ancient dinner-tables which, ar- 
ranged on the same principles, may be still seen in 
the antique Colleges of Oxford or Cambridge. 
Massive chairs and settles of carved oak were placed 
upon the dais, and over these seats and the more 
elevated table was fastened a canopy of cloth, which' 
served in some degree to protect the dignitaries 
who occupied that distinguished station from the 
weather, and especially from the rain, which in 


IVANHOE 35 

some places found its way through the ill-con- 
structed roof. 

The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far 
as the dais extended, were covered with hangings 
or curtains, and upon the floor there was a carpet, 
both of which were adorned with some attempts 
at tapestry or embroidery, executed with brilliant, 
or rather gaudy, colouring. Over the lower range of 
table, the roof, as we have noticed, had no cover- 
ing; the rough plastered walls were left bare, and 
the rude earthen floor was uncarpeted ; the board 
was uncovered by a cloth, and rude massive benches 
supplied the place of chairs. 

In the centre of the upper table were placed two 
chairs more elevated than the rest, for the master 
and mistress of the family, who presided over the 
scene of hospitality, and from doing so derived their 
Saxon title of honour, which signifies “the Dividers 
of Bread.” 

To each of these chairs was added a footstool, 
curiously carved and inlaid with ivory, which mark 
of distinction was peculiar to them. One of these 
seats was at present occupied by Cedric the Saxon, 
who, though but in rank a thane, or, as the Nor- 
mans called him, a franklin, felt at the delay of his 
evening meal an irritable impatience which might 
have become an alderman, whether of ancient or 
of modern times. 

It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this 
proprietor, that he was of a frank, but hasty and 
choleric, temper. He was not above the middle 
stature, but broad-shouldered, long-armed, and pow- 


36 


SCOTT 


erfully made, like one accustomed to endure the 
fatigue of war or of the chase; his face was broad, 
with large blue eyes, open and frank features, fine 
teeth, and a well-formed head, altogether expressive 
of that sort of good humour which often lodges with 
a sudden and hasty temper. Pride and jealousy 
there was in his eye, for his life had been spent 
in asserting rights which were constantly liable to 
invasion; and the prompt, fiery, and resolute dis- 
position of the man had been kept constantly upon 
the alert by the circumstances of his situation. His 
long yellow hair was equally divided on the top of 
his head and upon his brow, and combed down on 
each side to the length of his shoulders; it had but 
little tendency to gray, although Cedric was ap- 
proaching his sixtieth year. 

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at 
the throat and cuffs with what was called minever — 
a kind of fur inferior in quality to ermine, and 
formed, it is believed, of the skin of the gray 
squirrel. This doublet hung unbuttoned over a 
close dress of scarlet which sate tight to his body; 
he had breeches of the same, but they did not reach 
below the lower part of the thigh, leaving the knee 
exposed. His feet had sandals of the same fashion 
with the peasants, but of finer materials, and secured 
in the front with golden clasps. He had bracelets 
of gold upon his arms, and a broad collar of 
the same precious metal around his neck. About 
his waist he wore a richly studded belt, in which 
was Stuck a short, straight, two-edged sword, with a 
sharp point, so disposed as to hang almost perpen- 


IVANHOE 


37 


dicularly by his side. Behind his seat was hung 
a scarlet cloth cloak lined with fur, and a cap of 
the same materials, richly embroidered, which com- 
pleted the dress of the opulent landholder when he 
chose to go forth. A short boar-spear, with a 
broad and bright steel head, also reclined against 
the back of his chair, which served him, when he 
walked abroad, for the purposes of a staff or of 
a weapon, as chance might require. 

(Such was the hall of Rotherwood, before which 
our travelers wound their horns. A warder pres- 
ently announced them as Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx, 
and the good knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, on 
their way to a tournament to be held not far from 
Ashby-de-la-Zouche, on the second day from the 
present. Normans though they were, Cedric could 
not deny them and their retinue hospitality for the 
night, and they were shown to apartments that they 
might change their dress if they chose. 

Cedric knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an 
instant on the ground ; as he raised them, the fold- 
ing doors at the bottom of the hall were cast wide, 
and, preceded by the major-domo with his wand, 
and four domestics bearing blazing torches, the 
guests of the evening entered t'le apartment.) 

The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity af- 
forded him of changing his riding robe for one of 
yet more costly materials, over which he wore a 
cope curiously embroidered. Besides the massive 
golden signet ring which marked his ecclesiastical 
dignity, his fingers, though contrary to the canon, 
were loaded with precious gems; his sandals were 


88 


SCOTT 


of the finest leather which was imported from 
Spain; his beard trimmed to as small dimensions 
as his order would possibly permit, and his shaven 
crown concealed by a scarlet cap richly embroidered. 

The appearance of the Knight Templar was also 
changed; and though less studiously bedecked with 
ornament, his dress was as rich, and his appearance 
far more commanding, than that of his companion. 
He had exchanged his shirt of mail for an under 
tunic of dark purple silk, garnished with furs, over 
which flowed his long robe of spotless white in 
ample folds. The eight-pointed cross of his order 
was cut on the shoulder of his mantle in black vel- 
vet. The high cap no longer invested his brows, 
which were only shaded by short and thick curled 
hair of a raven blackness, corresponding to his un- 
usually swart complexion. Nothing could be more 
gracefully majestic than his step and manner, had 
they not been marked by a predominant air of 
haughtiness, easily acquired by the exercise of un- 
resisted authority. . . . 

When the repast was about to commence, the 
major-domo, or steward, suddenly raising his wand, 
said aloud : “Forbear ! Place for the Lady 
Rowena.” A side door at the upper end of the hall 
now opened behind the banquet table, and Rowena, 
followed by four female attendants, entered the apart- 
ment. Cedric, though surprised, and perhaps not 
altogether agreeably so, at his ward appearing in 
public on this occasion, hastened to meet her, and 
to conduct her, with respectful ceremony, to the 
elevated seat at his own right hand appropriated 


IVANHOE 


39 


to the lady of the mansion. All stood up to re- 
ceive her; and, replying to their courtesy by a mute 
gesture of salutation, she moved gracefully for- 
ward to assume her place at the board 

Formed in the best proportions of her sex, 
Rowena was tall in stature, yet not so much so as 
to attract observation because of superior height. 
Her complexion was exquisitely fair, but the noble 
cast of her head and features prevented the insipid- 
ity which sometimes attaches to fair beauties. Her 
clear blue eye, which sate enshrined beneath a 
graceful eyebrow of brown, sufficiently marked to 
give expression to the forehead, seemed capable to 
kindle as well as melt, to command as well as to 
beseech. If mildness were the more natural expres- 
sion of such a combination of features, it was plain 
that, in the present instance, the exercise of habit- 
ual superiority, and the reception of general hom- 
age, had given to the Saxon lady a loftier charac- 
ter, which mingled with and qualified that bestowed 
by nature. Her profuse hair, of a colour betwixt 
brown and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful and 
graceful manner in numerous ringlets, to form which 
art had probably aided nature. These locks were 
braided with gems, and being worn at full length, 
intimated the noble birth and free-born condition of 
the maiden. A golden chain, to which was at- 
tached a small reliquary of the same metal, hung 
round her neck. She wore bracelets on her arms, 
which were bare. Her dress was an under-gown 
and kirtle of pale sea-green silk, over which hung 
a long, loose robe, which reached to the ground. 


40 


SCOTT 


having very wide sleeves, which came down, how- 
ever, very little below the elbow. This robe was 
crimson, and manufactured out of the very finest 
wool, A veil of silk, interwoven with gold, was at- 
tached to the upper part of it, which could be, at 
the wearer’s pleasure, either drawn over the face 
and bosom after the Spanish fashion, or disposed as 
a sort of drapery round the shoulders. 

When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar’s 
eyes bent on her with an ardour that, compared with 
the dark caverns under which they moved, gave 
them the effect of lighted charcoal, she drew with 
dignity the veil around her face, as an intimation 
that the determined freedom of his glance was dis- 
agreeable. 

Cedric saw the motion and its cause. “Sir Tem- 
plar,” said he, “the cheeks of our Saxon maidens 
have seen too little of the sun to enable them 
to bear the fixed glance of a crusader.” 

“If I have offended,” replied Sir Brian, “I crave 
your pardon — that is, I crave the Lady Rowena’s 
pardon, for my humility will carry me no lower.” 

“The Lady Rowena,” said the Prior, “has pun- 
ished us all, in chastising the boldness of my 
friend. Let me hope she will be less cruel to the 
splendid train which are to meet at the tournament.” 

(The apology was accepted, and Rowena asked 
for news from the Holy Land. She was not the 
daughter of Cedric, only his ward; but he guarded 
her most jealously. His only son had been ban- 
ished for making love to her. This som had gone 
to the Holy Land, and perchance it was news of 


IVANHOE 


41 


him that Rowena was eager to hear. The Templar 
began to tell what little he knew ; but, he was in- 
terrupted by Wamba, who had taken his appropri- 
ated seat upon a chair, the back of which was deco- 
rated with two ass’ ears, and which was placed 
about two steps behind that of his master, who, 
from time to time, supplied him with victuals from 
his own trencher ; a favour, however, which the 
Jester shared with the favourite dogs, of whom, as 
we have already noticed, there were several in 
attendance. Here sat Wamba, with a small table 
before him, his heels tucked up against the bar 
of the chair, his cheeks sucked up so as to make his 
jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, and his eyes 
half-shut, yet watching with alertness every oppor- 
tunity to exercise his licensed foolery. 

“These truces with the infidels,” he exclaimed, 
without caring how suddenly he interrupted the 
stately Templar, “make an old man of me!” 

“Go to, knave — how so,” said Cedric, his features 
prepared to receive favourably the expected jest. 

“Because,” answered Wamba, “I remember three 
of them in my day, each of which was to endure 
for the course of fifty years ; so that, by computa- 
tion, I must be at least a hundred and fifty years 
old.” .... 

Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance 
of the porter’s page, who announced that there was 
a stranger at the gate, imploring admittance and 
hospitality. 

“Admit him,” said Cedric, “be he who or what he 
may; a night like that which roars without compels 


42 


SCOTT 


even wild animals to herd with tame, and to seek the 
protection of man, their mortal foe, rather than 
perish by the elements. Let his wants be ministered 
to with all care; look to it, Oswald.” 

And the steward left the banqueting hall to see 
the commands of his patron obeyed. 

Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of his 
master, “It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac of 
York; is it fit I should marshal him into the hall?” 

“Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,” said Wamba 
with his usual effrontery; “the swineherd will be 
a fit usher to the Jew.” 

“St. Mary,” said the Abbot, crossing himself, “an 
unbelieving Jew, and admitted into this presence 1” 

“A dog Jew,” echoed the Templar, “to approach 
a defender of the Holy Sepulchre?” 

“By my faith,” said Wamba, “it would seem the 
Templars love the Jews’ inheritance better than 
they do their company.” 

“Peace, my worthy guests,” said Cedric, “my 
hospitality must not be bounded by your dislikes. 
If heaven bore with the whole nation of stiff-necked 
unbelievers for more years than a layman can 
number, we may endure the presence of one Jew for 
a few hours. But I constrain no man to converse 
or to feed with him. Let him have a board and 
a morsel apart.” .... 

Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing 
with fear and hesitation, and many a bow of deep 
humility, a tall thin old man, who, however, had 
lost by the habit of stooping much of his actual 
height, approached the lower end of the board. His 


IVANHOE 


43 


features, keen and regular, with an aquiline nose, 
and piercing black eyes ; his high and wrinkled 
forehead, and long gray hair and beard, would have 
been considered as handsome, had they not been 
the marks of a physiognomy peculiar to a race 
which, during those dark ages, was alike detested 
by the credulous and prejudiced .vulgar, and perse- 
cuted by the greedy and rapacious nobility, and 
who, perhaps owing to that very hatred and perse- 
cution, had adopted a national character in which 
there was much, to say the least, mean and un- 
amiable. 

The Jew’s dress, which appeared to have suffered 
considerably from the storm, was a plain russet 
cloak of many folds, covering a dark purple tunic. 
He had large boots lined with fur, and a belt 
around his waist, which sustained a small knife, to- 
gether with a case for writing materials, but no 
weapon. He wore a high square yellow cap of a 
peculiar fashion, assigned to his nation to distin- 
guish them from Christians, and which he doffed 
with great humility at the door of the hall. 

The reception of this person in the hall of Cedric 
the Saxon was such as might have satisfied the 
most prejudiced enemy of the tribes of Israel. Ced- 
ric himself coldly nodded in answer to the Jew’s 
repeated salutations, and signed to him to take place 
at the lower end of the table, where, however, no 
one offered to make room for him. On the con- 
trary, as he passed along the file, casting a timid, 
supplicating glance, and turning towards each of 
those who occupied the lower end of the board, the 


44 


SCOTT 


Saxon domestics squared their shoulders, and con- 
tinued to devour their supper with great persever- 
ance, paying not the least attention to the wants 
of the new guest. The attendants of the Abbot 
crossed themselves, with looks of pious horror, and 
the very heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near 
them, curled up their whiskers with indignation, 
and laid their hands on their poniards, as if ready to 
rid themselves by the most desperate means from 
the apprehended contamination of his nearer ap- 
proach 

While Isaac thus stood an outcast in the present 
society, like his people among the nations, looking 
in vain for welcome or resting place, the Pilgrim, 
who sat by the chimney, took compassion upon him, 
and resigned his seat, saying briefly, “Old man, my 
garments are dried, my hunger is appeased ; thou 
art both wet and fasting.” So saying, he gathered 
together and brought to a flame the decaying brands 
which lay scattered on the ample hearth; took from 
the larger board a mess of pottage and seethed kid, 
placed it upon the small table at which he had 
himself supped, and, without waiting the Jew's 
thanks, went to the other side of the hall, whether 
from unwillingness to hold more close communi- 
cation with the object of his benevolence, or from 
a wish to draw near to the upper end of the table, 
seemed uncertain. 

Had there been painters in those days capable to 
execute such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his with- 
ered form and expanded his chilled and trembling 
hands over the firej would have formed no bad em- 


IVANHOE 


45 


blematical personification of the winter season. Hav- 
ing dispelled the cold, he turned eagerly to the 
smoking mess which was placed before him, and 
ate with a haste and an apparent relish that seemed 
to betoken long abstinence from food. 

(The conversation interrupted by the entrance of 
Isaac was promptly resumed, and soon turned upon 
King Richard, of whom the Templars were no 
friends.) 

“I think, friend Cedric,” said Wamba, interfering, 
“that had Richard of the Lion’s Heart been wise 
enough to have taken a fool’s advice, he might have 
stayed at home with his merry Englishmen, and 
left the recovery of Jerusalem to those same knights 
who had most to do with the loss of it.” 

“Were there, then, none in the English army,” 
said the Lady Rowena, “whose names are worthy to 
be mentioned with the Knights of the Temple and of 
St. John?” 

“Forgive me, lady,” replied De Bois-Guilbert ; 
“the English monarch did indeed bring to Palestine 
a host of gallant warriors, second only to those 
whose breasts have been the unceasing bulwark of 
that blessed land.” 

“Second to none,” said the Pilgrim, who had 
stood near enough to hear, and had listened to this 
conversation with marked impatience. All turned 
towards the spot from whence this unexpected as- 
severation was heard. “I say,” repeated the Pilgrim 
in a firm and strong voice, “that the English chivalry 
were second to none who ever drew sword in de- 
fense of the Holy Land. I say besides, for I saw 


46 


SCOTT 


it, that King Richard himself, and five of his 
knights, held a tournament after the taking of 
St. John-de-Acre, as challengers against all comers. 
I say that, on that day, each knight ran three 
courses, and cast to the ground three antagonists. 
I add, that seven of these assailants were Knights 
of the Temple; and Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert 
well knows the truth of what I tell you.” 

(The Templar was intensely angry; but at this 
point Cedric begged the Palmer to mention the 
names of the knights who so gallantly upheld the 
renown of merry England. The champion of Rich- 
ard mentioned five, the name of the sixth he could 
not remember.) 

“Sir Palmer,” said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
scornfully, “this assumed forgetfulness, after so 
much has been remembered, comes too late to serve 
your purpose. I will myself tell the name of the 
knight before whose lance fortune and my horse’s 
fault occasioned my falling; it was the Knight of 
Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, for his 
years, had more renown in arms. Yet this will I 
say, and loudly — that were he in England, and durst 
repeat, in this week’s tournament, the challenge of 
St. John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed as I now 
am, would give him every advantage of weapons, 
and abide the result.” 

“Your challenge would be soon answered,” re- 
plied the Palmer, “were your antagonist near you. 
As the matter is, disturb not the peaceful hall with 
vaunts of the issue of a conflict which you well 
know cannot take place. If Ivanhoe ever returns 


IVANHOE 47 

from Palestine, I will be his surety that he meets 
you.” 

“A goodly security!” said the Knight Templar; 
“and what do you proffer as a pledge?” 

“This reliquary,” said the Palmer, taking a small 
ivory box from his bosom, and crossing himself, 
“containing a portion of the true cross, brought 
from the monastery of Mount Carmel.” 

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and re- 
peated a pater noster, in which all devoutly joined, 
excepting the Jew, the Mohammedans, and the 
Templar; the latter of whom, without vailing his 
bonnet or testifying any reverence for the alleged 
sanctity of the relic, took from his neck a gold 
chain, which he flung on the board, saying, “Let 
Prior Aymer hold my pledge and that of this name- 
less vagrant, in token that, when the Knight of 
Ivanhoe comes within the four seas of Britain, he 
underlies the challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
which, if he answer not, I will proclaim him as a 
coward on the walls of every Temple court in 
Europe.” 

“It will not need,” said the Lady Rowena, break- 
ing silence : “my voice shall be heard, if no other 
in this hall is raised, in behalf of the absent Ivan- 
hoe, I affirm he will meet fairly every honourable 
challenge. Could my weak warrant add security 
to the inestimable pledge of this holy pilgrim, I 
would pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives 
this proud knight the meeting he desires.” 


48 


SCOTT 


III. 

THE JEW AND THE PALMER. 

(When the evening meal was finished and the 
guests were escorted to their apartments, the Jew 
was placed in a.n outer cell, the next but one to 
Gurth, the swineherd; while between them was 
lodged the humble Palmer or Pilgrim. 

This was fortunate for the Jew, as it proved, 
for the wanderer from the Holy Land had over- 
heard the Templar give some directions in Arabic 
to his Moslem attendants, bidding them waylay the 
Jew and rob him. 

At the first sign of daybreak the Pilgrim rose and 
said his prayers. Then he entered the cell of the 
Jew and awakened him with his staff. The poor 
Jew was frightened nearly out of his senses; but 
at last recovered himself and inquired what was 
wanted.) 

‘T come to tell you,” said the Palmer, “that if 
you leave not this mansion mstantly, and travel not 
with some haste, your journey may prove a dan- 
gerous one.” 

“Holy father,” said the Jew, “whom could it 
interest to endanger so poor a wretch as I am?” 

“The purpose you can best guess,” said the Pil- 
grim; “but rely on this, that when the Templar 
crossed the hall yesternight, he spoke to his Mus- 
sulman slaves in the Saracen language, which I 
well understand, and charged them this morning 


IVANHOE 


49 


to watch the journey of the Jew, to seize upon him 
when at a convenient distance from the mansion, 
and to conduct him to the castle of Philip de Mal- 
voisin or to that of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf.” 

(The Palmer next entered the cell of Gurth and 
bade him let out the Jew and himself. Gurth only 
growled in reply, “We suffer no visitors to depart 
by stealth at these unseasonable hours.” 

“Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a command- 
ing tone, “you will not, I think, refuse me that 
favour.” 

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the re- 
cumbent swineherd, and whispered something in 
his ear in Saxon. Gurth started up as if electri- 
fied. — The Pilgrim, raising his finger in an attitude 
as if to express caution, added, “Gurth, beware — 
thou art wont to be prudent. I say, undo the post- 
ern — thou shalt know more anon.” 

The Pilgrim and the Jew travelled safely together 
as far as a hill overlooking Sheffield. The Pilgrim 
pointed to the town lying beneath them, and said, 
“Here, then, we part”) 

“Not till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,” 
said Isaac; “for I presume not to ask you to go 
with me to my kinsman Zareth’s, who might aid 
me with some means of repaying your good offices.” 

“I have already said,” answered the Pilgrim, 
“that I desire no recompense. If, among the huge 
list of thy debtors, thou wilt, for my sake, spare 
the gyves and the dungeon to some unhappy Chris- 
tian who stands in thy danger, I shall hold this 
morning’s service to thee well bestowed.” 


60 


SCOTT 


“Stay — stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his 
garment; “something would I do more than this 
— something for thyself. God knows the Jew is 
poor — yes, Isaac is the beggar of his tribe — but for- 
give me should I guess what thou most lackest at 
this moment.” 

“If thou wert to guess truly,” said the Palmer, 
“it is what thou canst not supply, wert thou as 
wealthy as thou sayest thou art poor.” 

“As I say!” echoed the Jew. “Oh! believe it, I 
say but the truth ; I am a plundered, indebted, dis- 
tressed man. Hard hands have wrung from me my 
goods, my money, my ships, and all that I pos- 
sessed. Yet I can tell thee what thou lackest, and, 
it may be, supply it, too. Thy wish even now is 
for a horse and armour.” 

(The Palmer was startled, and attempted to de- 
fend the humble character he had assumed ; but the 
Jew had seen in the folds of his gown a knight’s 
chain and spurs of gold.) 

“In the town of Leicester all men know the rich 
Jew, Kirjath Jairam of Lombardy; give him this 
scroll. He hath on sale six Milan harnesses, the 
worst would suit a crowned head; ten goodly 
steeds, the worst might mount a king, were he to 
do battle for his throne. Of these he will give thee 
thy choice, with everything else that can furnish 
thee forth for the tournament ; when it is over, 
thou wilt return them safely — unless thou shouldst 
have wherewith to pay their value to the owner.” 


IVANHOE 


ol 


IV. 

THE TOURNAMENT. 

The passage of arms, as it was called, which 
was to take place at Ashby, in the county of Leices- 
ter, as champions of the first renown were to take 
the field in the presence of Prince John himself, 
who was expected to grace the lists, had attracted 
universal attention, and an immense confluence of 
persons of all ranks hastened upon the appointed 
morning to the place of combat. 

'fhe scene was singularly romantic. On the vetge 
of a wood, which approached to within ^ mile of 
the town of Ashby, was an extensive meadow of 
the finest and most beautiful green turf, surrounded 
on one side by the forest, and fringed on the other 
by straggling oak trees, some of which had grown 
to an immense size. The ground, as if fashioned 
on purpose for the martial display which was in- 
tended, sloped gradually down on all sides to a 
level bottom, which was inclosed for the lists with 
strong palisades, forming a space of a quarter of a 
mile in length, and about half as broad. The form 
of the inclosure was an oblong square, save that 
the corners were considerably rounded off, in order 
to afford more convenience for the spectators. The 
openings for the entry of the combatants were at 
the northern and southern extremities of the lists, 
accessible by strong wooden gates, each wide enough 
to admit two horsemen riding abreast. At each of 


52 


SCOTT 


these portals were stationed two heralds, attended 
by six trumpets, as many pursuivants, and a strong 
body of men-at-arms, for maintaining order, and 
ascertaining the quality of the knights who proposed 
to engage in this martial game. 

On a platform beyond the southern entrance, 
formed by a natural elevation of the ground, were 
pitched five magnificent pavilions, adorned with pen- 
nons of russet and black, the chosen colours of the 
five knights challengers. The cords of the tents 
were of the same colour. Before each pavilion 
was suspended the shield of the knight by whom 
it was occupied, and beside it stood his squire, 
quaintly disguised as a salvage or silvan man, or 
in some other fantastic dress, according to the taste 
of his master and the character he was pleased to 
assume during the game. The central pavilion, as 
the place of honour, had been assigned to Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, whose renown in all games of chiv- 
alry, no less than his connexion with the knights 
who had undertaken this passage of arms, had oc- 
casioned him to be eagerly received into the com- 
pany of the challengers and even adopted as their 
chief and leader, though he had so recently joined 
them. On one side of his tent were pitched those of 
Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and Richard [Philip] de 
Malvoisin, and on the other was the pavilion of 
Hugh de Grantmesnil, a noble baron in the vicinity, 
whose ancestor had been Lord High Steward of 
England in the time of the Conqueror and his son 
William Rufus. Ralph de Vipont, a knight of St. 
John of Jerusalem, who had some ancient posses- 


IVANHOE 


53 


sioiis at a place called Heather, near Ashby-de-la- 
Zouche, occupied the fifth pavilion. From the en- 
trance into the lists a gently sloping passage, ten 
yards in breadth, led up to the platform on which the 
tents were pitched. It was strongly secured by a 
palisade on each side, as was the esplanade in front 
of the pavilions, and the whole was guarded by men- 
at-arms. 

The northern access to the lists terminated in a 
similar entrance of thirty feet in breadth, at the ex- 
tremity of which was a large inclosed space for 
such knights as might be disposed to enter the lists 
with the challengers, behind which were placed tents 
containing refreshments of every kind for their 
accommodation, with armourers, farriers, and other 
attendants, in readiness to give their services where- 
ever they might be necessary. 

The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by 
temporary galleries, spread with tapestry and car- 
pets, and accommodated with cushions for the con- 
venience of those ladies and nobles who were ex- 
pected to attend the tournament. A narrow space 
betwixt these galleries and the lists gave accommo- 
dation for yeomanry and spectators of a better de- 
gree than the mere vulgar, and might be compared 
to the pit of a theater. The promiscuous multitude 
arranged themselves upon large banks of turf pre- 
pared for the purpose, which, aided by the natural 
elevation of the ground, enabled them to overlook 
the galleries and obtain a fair view into the lists. 
Besides the accommodations which these stations 
afforded, many hundreds had perched themselves on 


54 


SCOTT 


the branches of the trees which surrounded the 
meadow; and even the steeple of a country church, 
at some distance, was crowded with spectators. 

It only remains to notice respecting the general 
arrangement, that one gallery in the very centre of 
the eastern side of the lists, and consequently ex- 
actly opposite to the spot where the shock of the 
combat was to take place, was raised higher 
than the others, more richly decorated, and graced 
by a sort of throne and canopy, on which the royal 
arms were emblazoned. Squires, pages, and yeomen 
in rich liveries waited around this place of honour, 
which was designed for Prince John and his at- 
tendants. Opposite to this gallery was another, ele- 
vated to the same height, on the western side of 
the lists; and more gaily, if less sumptuously, deco- 
rated than that destined for the Prince himself. A 
train of pages and of young maidens, the most beau- 
tiful who could be selected, gaily dressed in fancy 
habits of green and pink, surrounded a throne deco- 
rated in the same colours. Among pennons and flags 
bearing wounded hearts, burning hearts, bleeding 
hearts, bows and quivers, and all the commonplace 
emblems of the triumphs of Cupid, a blazoned in- 
scription informed the spectators that this seat of 
honour was designed for La Royne de la Beaulte ef 
des Amours. But who was to represent the Queen 
of Beauty and of Love on the present occasion no 
one was prepared to guess. 

(Crowds were now pouring in from every direc- 
tion, and the seats were beginning to fill. Cedric 
and his friends placed themselves in certain of the 


IVANHOE 


55 


higher tier of seats; while in the open space below, 
corresponding to the pit of a theatre, the poorer 
gentry and well-to-do yeomen hustled each other 
for the best places. Among these Isaac of York 
was trying to make room on the front seat for him- 
self and his daughter, amid the execrations of all 
about. 

Prince John'* and his retinue had now entered 
the arena.) 

In his joyous caracole round the lists, the atten- 
tion of the Prince was called by the commotion, not 
yet subsided, which had attended the ambitious 
movement of Isaac toward the higher places of the 
assembly. The quick eye of Prince John instantly 
recognized the Jew, but was much more agreeably 
attracted by the beautiful daughter of Zion, who, 
terrified by the tumult, clung close to the arm of 
her aged father. 

The figure of Rebecca might indeed have com- 
pared with the proudest beauties of England, even 
though it had been judged by as shrewd a connois- 
seur as Prince John. Her form was exquisitely 
symmetrical, and was shown to advantage by a 
sort of Eastern dress, which she wore according to 
the fashion of the females of her nation. Her tur- 
ban of yellow silk suited well with the darkness of 
her complexion. The brilliancy of her eyes, the 
superb arch of her eyebrows, her well-formed aqui- 
line nose, her teeth as white as pearl, and the pro- 
fusion of her sable tresses, which, each arranged in 
its own little spiral of twisted curls, fell down upon 
as much of a lovely neck and bosom as a simarre 


56 


SCOTT 


of the richest Persian silk, exhibiting flowers in 
their natural colours embossed upon a purple ground, 
permitted to be visible — all these constituted a com- 
bination of loveliness which yielded not to the 
most beautiful of the maidens who surrounded her. 
It is true, that of the golden and pearl-studded clasps 
which closed her vest from the throat to the waist, 
the three uppermost were left unfastened on ac- 
count of the heat, which something enlarged the 
prospect to which we allude. A diamond necklace, 
with pendants of inestimable value, were by this 
means also made more conspicuous. The feather 
of an ostrich, fastened in her turban by an agraffe 
set with brilliants, was another distinction of the 
beautiful Jewess, scoffed and sneered at by the 
proud dames who sat above her, but secretly envied 
by those who affected to deride them. 

(Willing to do the Jew a service, in view of cer- 
tain money dealings which they had, the Prince inter- 
fered in behalf of Isaac, and ended by ordering him 
up into the seats occupied by Cedric and his friends, 
greatly to their indignation. Even the Jew himself 
begged to be excused, but the Prince would not 
permit it.) 

“Up, infidel dog, when I command you,” said 
Prince John, “or I will have thy swarthy hide stript 
off and tanned for horse-furniture !” 

Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep 
and narrow steps which led up to the gallery. 

“Let me see,” said the Prince, “who dare stop 
him!” fixing his eye on Cedric, whose attitude inti- 
mated his intention to hurl the Jew down headlong. 


IVANHOE 


57 


The catastrophe was prevented by the clown 
Wamba, who, springing betwixt his master and 
Isaac, and exclaiming, in answer to the Prince’s 
defiance, “Marry that will I !” opposed to the beard 
of the Jew a shield of brawn, which he plucked 
from beneath his cloak, and with which, doubtless, 
he had furnished himself lest the tournament should 
have proved longer than his appetite could endure 
abstinence. Finding the abomination of his tribe 
opposed to his very nose, while the Jester at the 
same time flourished his wooden sword above his 
head, the Jew recoiled, missed his footing, and rolled 
down the steps — an excellent jest to the spectators, 
who set up a loud laughter, in which Prince John 
and his attendants heartily joined. 

“Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,” said Wamba; 
“I have vanquished my foe in fair fight with sword 
and shield,” he added, brandishing the brawn in one 
hand and the wooden sword in the other. 

(This was too much, and the Prince was content 
to make room for Isaac in the front rank in the 
space below. But for pay he took at parting Isaac’s 
bag of byzants, flinging Wamba a couple of the 
gold pieces. 

It was now decided that the throne of the Queen 
of Love and Beauty should remain vacant on the 
first day, and that the successful knight in that 
day’s contests should choose whom he would to sit 
in that place for the sports of the second day. After 
this decision had been announced. Prince John 
ordered the heralds to proclaim the laws of the 
tournament, which were as follows:) 


68 SCOTT 

First, the five challengers were to undertake all 
comers. 

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat might, 
if he pleased, select a special antagonist from among 
the challengers, by touching his shield. If he did 
so with the reverse of his lance, the trial of skill 
was made with what were called the arms of cour- 
tesy, that is, with lances at whose extremity a piece 
of round flat board was fixed, so that no danger 
was encountered, save from the shock of the horses 
and riders. But if the shield was touched with the 
sharp end of the lance, the combat was understood 
to be at outrance, that is, the knights were to fight 
with sharp weapons, as in actual battle. 

Thirdly, when the knights present had accom- 
plished their vow, by each of them breaking five 
lances, the Prince was to declare the victor in the 
first day’s tourney, who should receive as prize a 
war-horse of exquisite beauty and matchless 
strength; and in addition to this reward of valour, 
it was now declared, he should have the peculiar 
honour of naming the Queen of Love and Beaut 3 % 
by whom the prize should be given on the ensuing 
day. 

Fourthly, it was announced that, on the second 
day, there should be a general tournament, in which 
all the knights present, who were desirous to win 
praise, might take part; and being divided into two 
bands, of equal numbers, might fight it out manfully 
until the signal was given by Prince John to cease 
the combat. The elected Queen of Love and Beauty 
was then to crown the knight whom the Prince 


IVANHOE 


59 


should adjudge to have borne himself best in this 
second day, with a coronet composed of thin gold 
plate, cut into the shape of a laurel crown. On 
this second day the knightly games ceased. But on 
that which was to follow, feats of archery, of bull- 
baiting, and other popular amusements were to be 
practiced, for the more immediate amusement of 
the populace. In this manner did Prince John en- 
deavour to lay the foundation of a popularity which 
he was perpetually throwing down by some incon- 
siderate act of wanton aggression upon the feelings 
and prejudices of the people. 

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. 
The sloping galleries were crowded with all that 
was noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful in the north- 
ern and midland parts of England; and the contrast 
of the various dresses of these dignified spectators 
rendered the view as gay as it was rich, while the 
interior and lower space, filled with the substantial 
burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, 
in their more plain attire, a dark fringe, or border, 
around this circle of brilliant embroidery, relieving, 
and at the same time setting off, its splendour. 

The heralds finished their proclamation with their 
usual cry of “Largesse, largesse, gallant knights!’^ 
and gold and silver pieces were showered on them 
from the galleries, it being a high point of chivalry 
to exhibit liberality toward those whom the age ac- 
counted at once the secretaries and the historians 
of honour. The bounty of the spectators was ac- 
knowledged by the customary shouts of “Love of 
ladies — Death of champions — Honour to the generous 


60 


SCOTT 


— Glory to the brave!’' To which the more humble 
spectators added their acclamations, and a numer- 
ous band of trumpeters the flourish of their martial 
instruments. When these sounds had ceased, the 
heralds withdrew from the lists in gay and glitter- 
ing procession, and none remained within them 
save the marshals of the field, who, armed cap-a-pie, 
sat on horseback, motionless as statues, at the op- 
posite ends of the lists. Meantime, the inclosed 
space at the northern extremity of the lists, large 
as it was, was now completely crowded with knights 
desirous to prove their skill against the challengers, 
and, when viewed from the galleries, presented the 
appearance of a sea of waving plumage, intermixed 
with glistening helmets and tall lances, to the ex- 
tremities of which were, in many cases, attached 
small pennons of about a span’s breadth, which, 
fluttering in the air as the breeze caught them, 
joined with the restless motion of the feathers to 
add liveliness to the scene. 

At length the barriers were opened, and five 
knights chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the area ; 
a single champion riding in front, and the other 
four following in pairs. All were splendidly armed, 
and my Saxon authority (in the Wardour Manu- 
script) records at great length their devices, their 
colours, and the embroidery of their horse trappings. 
It is unnecessary to be particular on these subjects. 
To borrow lines from a contemporary poet, who 
has written but too little — 


IVANHOE 


61 


The knights are dust, 

And their good swords are rust, 

Their souls are with the saints, we trust. 

Their escutcheons have long mouldered from the 
walls of their castles. Their castles themselves are 
but green mounds and shattered ruins : the place 
that once knew them knows them no more — nay, 
many a race since theirs has died out and been 
forgotten in the very land which they occupied with 
all the authority of feudal proprietors and feudal 
lords. What, then, would it avail the reader to know 
their names, or the evanescent symbols of their 
martial rank? 

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion 
which awaited their names and feats, the champions 
advanced through the lists, restraining their fiery 
steeds, and compelling them to move slowly, while, 
at the same time, they exhibited their paces, together 
with the grace and dexterity of the riders. As the 
procession entered the lists, the sound of a wild 
barbaric music was heard from behind the tents of 
the challengers, where the performers were con- 
cealed. It was of Eastern origin, having been 
brought from the Holy Land; and the mixture of 
the cymbals and bells seemed to bid welcome at 
once, and defiance, to the knights as they advanced. 
With the eyes of an immense concourse of spec- 
tators fixed upon them, the five knights advanced 
up the platform upon which the tents of the chal- 
lengers stood, and there separating themselves, each 
touched slightly, and with the reverse of his lance. 


62 


SCOTT 


the shield of the antagonist to whom he wished to 
oppose himself. The lower order of spectators in 
general — nay, many of the higher class, and it is 
even said several of the ladies — were rather dis- 
appointed at the champions choosing the arms of 
courtesy. For the same sort of persons who, in the 
present day, applaud most highly the deepest trage- 
dies were then interested in a tournament exactly 
in proportion to the danger incurred by the cham- 
pions engaged. 

Having intimated their more pacific purpose, the 
champions retreated to the extremity of the lists, 
where they remained drawn up in a line; while the 
challengers, sallying each from his pavilion, mounted 
their horses, and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
descended from the platform and opposed them- 
selves individually to the knights who had touched 
their respective shields. 

At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they 
started out against each other at full gallop; and 
such was the superior dexterity or good fortune of 
the challengers, that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert, 
Malvoisin, and Front-de-Bceuf rolled on the ground. 
The antagonist of Grantmesnil, instead of bearing 
his lance-point fair against the crest or the shield 
of his enemy, swerved so much from the direct 
line as to break the weapon athwart the person of 
his opponent— a circumstance which was accounted 
more disgraceful than that of being actually un- 
horsed, because the latter might happen from acci- 
dent, whereas the former evinced awkwardness and 
want of management of the weapon and of the 


IVANHOE 


63 


horse. The fifth knight alone maintained the honour 
of his party, and parted fairly with the Knight of 
St. John, both splintering their lances without ad- 
vantage on either side. 

The shouts of the multitude, together with the 
acclamations of the heralds and the clangour of the 
trumpets, announced the triumph of the victors 
and the defeat of the vanquished. The former re- 
treated to their pavilions, and the latter, gathering 
themselves up as they could, withdrew from the 
lists in disgrace and dejection, to agree with their 
victors concerning the redemption of their arms 
and their horses, which, according to the laws of 
the tournament, they had forfeited. The fifth of 
their number alone tarried in the lists long enough 
to be greeted by the applause of the spectators, 
amongst whom he retreated, to the aggravation, 
doubtless, of his companions’ mortification. 

A second and a third party of knights took the 
field; and although they had various success, yet, 
upon the whole, the advantage decidedly remained 
with the challengers, not one of whom lost his 
seat or swerved from his charge — misfortunes which 
befell one or two of their antagonists in each 
encounter. The spirits, therefore, of those opposed 
to them seemed to be considerably damped by their 
continued success. Three knights only appeared on 
the fourth entry, who, avoiding the shields of Bois- 
Guilbert and Front-de-Boeuf, contented themselves 
with touching those of the three other knights who 
had not altogether manifested the same strength and 
dexterity. This politic selection did not alter the 


64 


SCOTT 


fortune of the field; the challengers were still suc- 
cessful. One of their antagonists was overthrown; 
and both the others failed in the attaint* that is, 
in striking the helmet and shield of their antagonist 
firmly and strongly, with the lance held in a direct 
line, so that the weapon might break unless the 
champion was overthrown. 

After this fourth encounter, there was a consid- 
erable pause; nor did it appear that any one was 
very desirous of renewing the contest. The spec- 
tators murmured among themselves ; for, among 
the challengers, Malvoisin and Front-de-Boeuf were 
unpopular from their characters, and the others, 
except Grantmesnil, were disliked as strangers and 
foreigners. . . . 

The pause in the tournament was still uninter- 
rupted, excepting by the voices of the heralds ex- 
claiming : “Love of ladies, splintering of lances ! 
stand forth, gallant knights, fair eyes look upon 
your deeds !” 

The music, also, of the challengers breathed 
from time to time wild bursts expressive of triumph 
or defiance, while the clowns grudged a holiday 
which seemed to pass away in inactivity; and old 
knights and nobles lamented in whispers the decay 
of martial spirit, spoke of the triumphs of their 
younger days, but agreed that the land did not now 
supply dames of such transcendent beauty as had 
animated the jousts of former times. Prince John 
began to talk to his attendants about making ready 

*This term of chivalry transferred to the law gives the 
phrase of being attainted of treason. 


IVANHOE 


65 


the banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the 
prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with 
a single spear, overthrown two knights and foiled 
a third. 

At length, as the Saracenic music of the challen- 
gers concluded one of those long and high flourishes 
with which they had broken the silence of the 
lists, it was answered by a solitary trumpet, which 
breathed a note of defiance from the northern ex- 
tremity. All eyes were turned to see the new 
champion which these sounds announced, and no 
sooner were the barriers opened than he paced 
into the lists. As far as could be judged of a 
man sheathed in armor, the new adventurer did 
not greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be 
rather slender than strongly made. His suit of 
armour was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, 
and the device on his shield was a young oak tree 
pulled up by the roots, with the Spanish word 
Desdichado, signifying Disinherited. He was 
mounted on a gallant black horse, and as he passed 
through the lists he gracefully saluted the Prince 
and the ladies by lowering his lance. The dexterity 
with which he managed his steed, and something 
of youthful grace which he displayed in his manner, 
won him the favour of the multitude, which some of 
the lower classes expressed by calling out, “Touch 
Ralph de Vipont’s shield — touch the Hospitaller’s 
shield; he has the least sure seat, he is your cheap- 
est bargain,” 

The champion, moving onw'ard amid these well- 
meant hints, ascended the platform by the sloping 


66 


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alley which led to it from the lists, and, to the 
astonishment of all present, riding straight up to 
the central pavilion, struck with the sharp end of 
his spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert until 
it rang again. All stood astonished at his pre- 
sumption, but none more than the redoubted knight 
whom he had thus defied to mortal combat, and 
who, little expecting so rude a challenge, was 
standing carelessly at the door of the pavilion. 

“Have you confessed yourself, brother,” said the 
Templar, “and have you heard mass this morning, 
that you peril your life so frankly?” 

“I am fitter to meet death than thou art,” an- 
swered the Disinherited Knight; for by this name 
the stranger had recorded himself in the books of 
the tourney. 

“Then take your place in the lists,” said Bois- 
Guilbert, “and look your last upon the sun ; for 
this night thou shalt sleep in paradise.” 

“Gramercy for thy courtesy,” replied the Disin- 
herited Knight, “and to requite it, I advise thee 
to take a fresh horse and a new lance, for by my 
honour you will need both.” 

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he 
reined his horse backward down the slope which 
he had ascended, and compelled him in the same 
manner to move backward through the lists, till 
he reached the northern extremity, where he re- 
mained stationary, in expectation of his antagonist. 
This feat of horsemanship again attracted the ap- 
plause of the multitude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the pre- 


IVANHOE 


67 


cautions which he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert did not neglect his advice ; for his honour was 
too nearly concerned to permit his neglecting any 
means which might ensure victory over his pre- 
sumptuous opponent. He changed his horse for 
a proved and fresh one of great strength and spirit. 
He chose a new and tough spear, lest the wood of 
the former might have been strained in the previous 
encounters he had sustained. Lastly, he laid aside 
his shield, which had received some little damage, 
and received another from his squires. His first 
had only borne the general device of his ,rider, rep- 
resenting two knights riding upon one horse, an 
emblem expressive of the original humility and 
poverty of the Templars, qualities which they had 
since exchanged for the arrogance and wealth that 
finally occasioned their suppression. Bois-Guilbert’s 
new shield bore a raven in full flight, holding in its 
claws a skull, and bearing the motto, Garc le Cor- 
beau. 

When the two champions stood opposed to each 
other at the two extremities of the lists, the public 
expectation was strained to the highest pitch. Few 
augured the possibility that the encounter could 
terminate well for the Disinherited Knight; yet his 
courage and gallantry secured the general good 
wishes of the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, 
than the champions vanished from their posts with 
the speed of lightning, and closed in the centre of 
the lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The 
lances burst into shivers up to the very grasp, and 


68 


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it seemed at the moment that both knights had 
fallen, for the shock had made each horse recoil 
backward upon its haunches. The address of the 
riders recovered their steeds by use of the bridle 
and spur; and having glared on each other for an 
instant with eyes which seemed to flash fire through 
the bars of their visors, each made a demi-volte, 
and, retiring to the extremity of the lists, received 
a fresh lance from the attendants. 

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of 
scarfs and handkerchiefs, and general acclamations, 
attested the interest taken by the spectators in 
this encounter — the most equal, as well as the best 
performed, which had graced the day. But no 
sooner had the knights resumed their station than 
the clamour of applause was hushed into a silence 
so deep and so dead that it seemed the multitude 
were afraid even to breathe. 

A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that 
the combatants and their horses might recover 
breath. Prince John with his truncheon signed to 
the trumpets to, sound the onset. The champions a 
second time sprung from their stations, and closed 
in the centre of the lists, with the same speed, the 
same dexterity, the same violence, but not the same 
equal fortune as before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at 
the centre of his antagonist’s shield, and struck 
it so fair and forcibly that his spear went to shiv- 
ers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his 
saddle. On the other hand, that champion had in 
the beginning of his career directed the point of 


IVANHOE 


69 


his lance toward Bois-Guilbert’s shield, but, chang- 
ing his aim almost in the moment of encounter, he 
addressed it to the helmet, a mark more difficult to 
hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock more 
irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Norman on 
the visor, where his lance’s point kept hold of the 
bars. Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar 
sustained his high reputation ; and had not the 
girths of his saddle burst, he might not have been 
unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, 
and man rolled on the ground under a cloud of 
dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen 
steed was to the Templar scarce the work of a 
moment; and, stung with madness, both at his dis- 
grace and at the acclamations with which it was 
hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword and 
waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disin- 
herited Knight sprung from his steed, and also un- 
sheathed his sword. The marshals of the field, how- 
ever, spurred their horses between them, and re- 
minded them that the laws of the tournament did 
not, on the present occasion, permit this species 
of encounter. 

“We shall meet again, I trust,” said the Templar, 
casting a resentful glance at his antagonist; “and 
where there are none to separate us.” 

“If we do not,” said the Disinherited Knight, “the 
fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback, 
with spear, with axe, or with sword, I am alike 
ready to encounter thee.” 

More and angrier words would have been ex- 


70 


SCOTT 


changed, but the marshals, crossing their lances be- 
twixt them, compelled them to separate. The Disin- 
herited Knight returned to his first station, and 
Bois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained for 
the rest of the day in an agony of despair. 

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror 
called for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver, 
or lower part of his helmet, announced that he 
quaffed it, “To all true English hearts, and to the 
confusion of foreign tyrants.” He then commanded 
his trumpet to sound a defiance to the challengers, 
and desired a herald to announce to them that he 
should make no election, but was willing to en- 
counter them in the order in which they pleased to 
advance against him. 

The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable ar- 
mour, was the first who took the field. He bore on a 
white shield a black bull’s head, half defaced by the 
numerous encounters which he had undergone, and 
bearing the arrogant motto. Cave, Adsum. Over this 
champion the Disinherited Knight obtained a slight 
but decisive advantage. Both knights broke their 
lances fairly, but Front-de-Boeuf, who lost a stirrup 
in the encounter, was adjudged to have the disad- 
vantage. 

In the stranger’s third encounter with Sir Philip 
Malvoisin he was equally successful ; striking that 
baron so forcibly on the casque that the laces of the 
helmet broke, and Malvoisin, only saved from falling 
by being unhelmeted, was declared vanquished like 
his companions. 

In his fourth combat with De Grantmesnil the Dis- 


IVANHOE 


71 


inherited Knight showed as much courtesy as he had 
hitherto evinced courage and dexterity. De Grant- 
mesnil’s horse, which was young and violent, reared 
and plunged in the course of the career so as to 
disturb the rider’s aim, and the stranger declining to 
take the advantage which this accident afforded him, 
raised his lance, and passing his antagonist with- 
out touching him, wheeled his horse and rode back 
again to his own end of the lists, offering his antag- 
onist, by a herald, the chance of a second encounter. 
This De Grantmesnil declined,, avowing himself 
vanquished as much by the courtesy as by the ad- 
dress of his opponent. 

Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the stran- 
ger’s triumphs, being hurled to the ground with such 
force that the blood gushed from his nose and his 
mouth, and he was borne senseless from the lists. 

The acclamations of thousands applauded the 
unanimous award of the Prince and marshals, an- 
nouncing that day’s honours to the Disinherited 
Knight. 


72 


SCOTT 


V. 

THE DISINHERITED KNIGHT. 

(As the Disinherited Knight came forward to re- 
ceive the war horse, which was to be the reward 
of his valor, Prince John trembled with fear lest 
the unknown might be his brother Richard returned 
to claim his own, and upset the Prince’s plans to 
usurp the throne. He was not half satisfied when 
one of his followers pointed out that the strange 
knight was at least three inches shorter than Rich- 
ard, and smaller in every way. 

“The horse was led into the lists by two grooms 
richly dressed, the animal itself fully accoutred with 
the richest war furniture ; which, however, scarcely 
added to the value of the noble creature in the eyes 
of those who were judges. Laying one hand upon 
the pommel of the saddle, the Disinherited Knight 
vaulted at once upon the back of the steed without 
making use of the stirrup, and brandishing aloft his 
lance, rode twice round the lists, exhibiting the 
points and paces of the horse with the skill of a 
perfect horseman.” 

In the meantime, the Prior of Jorvaulx had re- 
minded the Prince that the victor must now dis- 
play his good judgment, instead of his valor, by 
selecting from among the beauties who graced the 
galleries a lady who should fill the throne of the 
Queen of Beauty and of Love, and deliver the 
prize of the tourney upon the ensuing day. 


IVANHOE 


73 


“Sir Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “since 
that is the only title by which we can address you, 
it is now your duty as well as privilege, to name 
the fair lady, who, as Queen of Honour and of Love, 
is to preside over next day’s festival.” 

The Prince could not help dropping a hint that 
Alicia, daughter of one of his followers, was held 
the first beauty at his court. 

“Nevertheless,” he concluded, “it is your undoubted 
prerogative to confer on whom you please this 
crown, by the delivery of which to the lady of your 
choice, the election of tomorrow’s Queen will be 
formal and complete. — Raise your lance.” 

“The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed upon 
its point a coronet of green satin, having around 
its edge a circle of gold, the upper edge of which 
was relieved by arrow points and hearts placed 
interchangeably, like the strawberry leaves and balls 
upon a ducal crown.” 

Slowly the Knight rode round the lists, as if 
inspecting the fair faces which adorned that splen- 
did circle.) 

It was worth while to see the different conduct 
of the beauties who underwent this examination, 
during the time it was proceeding. Some blushed; 
some assumed an air of pride and dignity; some 
looked straight forward, and essayed to seem utterly 
unconscious of what was going on; some drew back 
in alarm, which was perhaps affected ; some en- 
deavoured to forbear smiling ; and there were two or 
three who laughed outright. There were also some 
who dropped their veils over their charms; but as 


74 


SCOTT 


the Wardour manuscript says these were fair ones 
of ten years’ standing, it may be supposed that, 
having had their full share of such vanities, they 
were willing to withdraw their claim in order to 
give a fair chance to the rising beauties of the age. 

At length the champion paused beneath the bal- 
cony in Which the Lady Rowena was placed, and 
the expectation of the spectators was excited to the 
utmost 

Whether from indecision or some other motive of 
hesitation, the champion of the day remained sta- 
tionary for more than a minute, while the eyes of 
the silent audience were riveted upon his motions ; 
and then, gradually and gracefully sinking the point 
of his lance, he deposited the coronet which it sup- 
ported at the feet of the fair Rowena. The trum- 
pets instantly sounded, while the heralds proclaimed 
the Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty and of 
Love for the ensuing day, menacing with suitable 
penalties those who should be disobedient to her 
'authority. They then repeated their cry of “Lar- 
gesse,” to which Cedric, in the height of his joy, re- 
plied by an ample donative. . . . 

There was some murmuring among the damsels 
of Norman descent, who were as much unu.sed to 
see the preference given to a Saxon beauty as the 
Norman nobles were to sustain defeat in the games 
of chivalry which they themselves had introduced. 
But these sounds of disaffection were drowned by 
the popular shout of “Long live the Lady Rowena, 
the chosen and lawful Queen of Love and of Beauty !” 
To which many in the lower area added, “Long live 


IVANHOE 


75 


the Saxon Princess ! long live the race of the 
immortal Alfred!” 

5lC >|C ♦ * ♦ * ♦ 

(Isaac of York had recognized in the Disinherited 
Knight his friend of the day before, and wrung his 
hands at every clash which the good armor and 
the gallant steed sustained. Rebecca maintained 
that a knight who was so reckless of his ow-n per- 
son surely had a right to expose his steed and 
armor in the same way. 

No sooner had the Knight retired to his pavilion 
than numberless squires and pages crowded for- 
ward to assist him in disarming and to offer him 
refreshment ; but he would have no squire but 
Gurth, the swineherd of Rotherwood, who was con- 
cealed in a long Norman cloak, with a hood which 
covered his features. 

Scarcely had our Knight finished a hasty meal 
When Gurth announced that five men, each leading 
a barbed steed, wished to speak with his master. 
These were the forfeited horses and armor of the 
five knights he had overthrown, which he might 
retain or return for ransom. In the case of four 
of them he accepted an offered ransom of one hun- 
dred zecchins; but from Bois-Guilbert he would ac- 
cept neither ransom nor armor, as there was deadly 
feud between them, which they must fight out on 
some future occasion. 

Of the four hundred zecchins given by the four 
other knights, he gave half to the squires, heralds, 
and attendants, while the remaining half he sent by 
Gurth to satisfy Isaac of York for his guarantee. 


76 


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Isaac priced the armor at eighty zecchins, which 
Gurth paid; but as the messenger was departing, 
Rebecc;a drew him into a side room and gave him 
a bag containing a hundred, saying that her father 
returned the eighty, and added twenty for Gurth 
himself. 

On his way home Gurth fell in with a party of 
outlaws, who, strangely enough when they knew 
who he was and from whom he came, sent him on 
his way with all his money.) 

♦ * * * St-' Hi ♦ 

(On the second day, all the knights were to par- 
ticipate in a general melee. The}*^ were divided into 
two parties, one headed of course by the Disin- 
herited Knight, and the other by Bois-Guilbert, who 
was reckoned to have come off second best in the 
contest of the day before. 

As the time arrived the spectators once more 

crowded the galleries, the knights were evenly 

divided, just fifty on a side, and the laws of the 
tournament were proclaimed.) 

The marshals then withdrew from the lists, and 
William de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pro- 
nounced the signal words, ^'Laissez aller!’* The 

trumpets sounded as he spoke; the spears of the 
champions were- at once lowered and placed in the 
rests; the spurs were dashed into the flanks of the 
horses; and the two foremost ranks of either party 
rushed upon each other in full gallop, and met in 
the middle of the lists with a shock the sound of 
which was heard at a mile’s distance. The rear 
rank of each party advanced at a slow pace to sus- 


IVANHOE 77 

tain the defeated, and follow up the success of the 
victors, of their party. 

The champions thus encountering each other wkh 
the utmost fury, and with alternate success, the tide 
of battle seemed to flow now toward the southern, 
now toward the northern, extremity of the lists, as 
the one or the other party prevailed. Meantime the 
clang of the blows and the shouts of the combatants 
mixed fearfully with the sound of the trumpets, and 
drowned the groans of those who fell, and lay roll- 
ing defenceless beneath the feet of the horses. The 
splendid armor of the combatants was now defaced 
with dust and blood, and gave way at every stroke 
of the sword and battle-ax. The gay plumage, shorn 
from the crests, drifted upon the breeze like snow- 
flakes. All that was beautiful and graceful in the 
martial array had disappeared, and what was now 
visible was only calculated to awake terror or com- 
passion. 

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes 
of all endeavoured to discover the leaders of each 
band, who, mingling in the thick of the fight, en- 
couraged their companions both by voice and exam- 
ple. Both displayed great feats of gallantry, nor did 
either Bois-Guilbert or the Disinherited Knight find 
in the ranks opposed to them a champion who could 
be termed their unquestioned match. They repeat- 
edly endeavoured to single out each other, spurred by 
mutual animosity, and aware that the fall of either 
leader might be considered as decisive of victory. 
Such, however, was the crowd and confusion that, 
during the earlier part of the conflict, their efforts 


78 


SCOTT 


to meet were unavailing, and they were repeatedly 
separated by the eagerness of their followers, each 
of whom was anxious to win honour by measuring 
his strength against the leader of the opposite party. 

But when the field became thin by the numbers 
on either side who had yielded themselves van- 
quished, had been compelled to the extremity of 
the lists, or been otherwise rendered incapable of 
continuing the strife, the Templar and the Disin- 
herited Knight at length encountered, hand to hand, 
with all the fury that mortal animosity, joined to 
rivalry of honour, could inspire. Such was the ad- 
dress of each in parrying and striking, that the 
spectators broke forth into a unanimous and invol- 
untary shout, expressive of their delight and ad- 
miration. 

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited 
Knight had the worst; the gigantic arm of Front- 
de-Boeuf on the one flank, and the ponderous 
strength of Athelstane on the other, bearing down 
and dispersing those immediately exposed to them. 
Finding themselves freed from their immediate an- 
tagonists, it seemed to have occurred to both these 
knights at the same instant that they would render 
the most decisive advantage to their party by aiding 
the Templar in his contest with his rival. Turning 
their horses, therefore, at the same moment, the 
Norman spurred against the Disinherited Knight 
on the one side and the Saxon on the other. It 
was utterly impossible that the object of this un- 
equal and unexpected assault could have sustained 
it, had he not been warned by a general cry from 


IVANHOE 79 

the spectators, who could not but take interest in 
one exposed to such disadvantage. 

“Beware ! beware ! Sir Disinherited !” was shouted 
so universally that the knight became aware of his 
danger ; and striking a full blow at the Templar, he 
reined back his steed in the same moment, so as to 
escape the charge of Athelstane and Front-de-Boeuf. 
These knights, therefore, their aim being thus 
eluded, rushed from opposite sides betwixt the ob- 
ject of their attack and the Templar, almost running 
their horses against each other ere they could 
stop their career. Recovering their horses, however, 
and wheeling them round, the whole three pursued 
their united purpose of bearing to the earth the 
Disinherited Knight. 

Nothing could have saved him except the remark- 
able strength and activity of the noble horse which 
he had won on the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse 
of Bois-Guilbert .was wounded, and those of Front- 
de-Boeuf and Athelstane were both tired with the 
weight of their gigantic masters, clad in complete 
armor, and with the preceding exertions of the day. 
1 he masterly horsemanship of the Disinherited 
Knight, and the activity of the noble animal which 
he mounted, enabled him for a few minutes to keep 
at sword’s point his three antagonists, turning and 
wheeling with the agility of a hawk upon the wing, 
keeping his enemies as far separate as he could, and 
rushing now against the one, now against the other, 
dealing sweeping blows with his sword, without 


80 


SCOTT 


waiting to receive those which were aimed at him 
in return. 

But although the lists rang with the applause of 
his dexterity, it was evident that he must at last 
be overpowered; and the nobles around Prince John 
implored him with one voice to throw down his 
warder, and to save so brave a knight from the dis- 
grace of being overcome by odds. 

“Not I, by the light of Heaven !” answered Prince 
John; “this same springal, who conceals his name 
and despises our proffered hospitality, hath already 
gained one prize, and may now afford to let others 
have their turn.” As he spoke thus, an unexpected 
incident changed the fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited 
Knight a champion in black armor, mounted on a 
black horse, large of size, tall, and to all appearance 
powerful and strong, like the rider by whom he was 
mounted. This knight, who bore on his shield no 
device of any kind, had hitherto evinced very little 
interest in the event of the fight, beating off with 
seeming ease those combatants who attacked him, 
but neither pursuing his advantages, nor himself 
assailing any one. In short, he had hitherto acted 
the part rather of a spectator than of a party in the 
tournament, a circumstance which procured him 
among the spectators the name of Le Noir Faineant, 
or the Black Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his 
apathy, when he discovered the leader of his party 
so hard bested ; for, setting spurs to his horse, which 
was quite fresh, he came to his assistance like a 


IVANHOE 


81 


thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like a trumpet- 
call, '^Desdichado, to the rescue!” It was high time; 
for, while the Disinherited Knight was pressing 
upon the Templar, Front-de-Boeuf had got nigh to 
him with his uplifted sword; but ere the blow could 
descend, the Sable Knight dealt a stroke on his 
head, which, glancing from the polished helmet, 
lighted with violence scarcely abated on the chamfron 
of the steed, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the 
ground, both horse and man equally stunned by the 
fury of the blow. Le Noir Faineant then turned his 
horse upon Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; and his own 
sword having been broken in his encounter with 
Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched from the hand of the 
bulky Saxon the battle-ax which he wielded, and, 
like one familiar with the use of the weapon, be- 
stowed him such a blow upon the crest that Athel- 
stane also lay senseless on the field. Having achieved 
this double feat, for which he was the more highly 
applauded that it was totally unexpected from him, 
the knight seemed to resume the sluggishness of his 
character, returning calmly to the northern extremity 
of the lists, leaving his leader to cope as he best 
could with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. This was no 
longer matter of so much difficulty as formerly. The 
Templar’s horse had bled much, and gave way under 
the shock of the Disinherited Knight’s charge. Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert rolled on the field, encumbered with 
the stirrup, from which he was unable to draw his 
foot. His antagonist sprung from horseback, waved 
his fatal sword over the head of his adversary, and 
commanded him to yield himself ; when Prince John, 


82 


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more moved by the Templar’s dangerous situation 
than he had been by that of his rival, saved him 
the mortification of confessing himself vanquished 
by casting down his warder and putting an end to 
the conflict. 

He + * * * ♦ 

(Prince John awarded the prize of the day to the 
Black Knight, in spite of the protest of his follow- 
ers, alleging that the Disinherited Knight would cer- 
tainly have gone down had it not been for the effect- 
ive assistance rendered by the Black Knight. But 
when that gallant knight was called for to receive 
his award he was nowhere to be found, and the prize 
was perforce once more assigned to the Disinherited 
Knight.) 

He was led forward and made to kneel at the 
foot of the throne of the Queen of Love and Beauty. 
Rowena descended and was about to place the chap- 
let on his helmet, when the marshals exclaimed with 
one voice, “It must not be thus — his head must be 
bare.” The knight muttered faintly a few words, 
which were lost in the hollow of his helmet, but 
their purport seemed to be that his casque might 
not be removed. But the marshals paid no atten- 
tion to his expression of reluctance and unhelmed 
him by cutting the laces of his casque and undoing 
the fastenings of his gorget. When the helmet was 
removed, the well-formed, yet sun-burnt features 
of a young man of twenty-five were seen, amid a 
profusion of short fair hair. 

Rowena uttered a shriek, but nerved herself to 
perform her office, placing upon the drooping head 


IVANHOE 


83 


of the victor the splendid chaplet, with these words: 
‘I bestow on thee this chaplet, Sir Knight, as the 
meed of valour assigned to this day’s victor.’ Then 
she added, ‘And upon brows more worthy could a 
wreath of chivalry never be placed.’ 

The knight bowed his head, and kissed the hand 
of the lovely sovereign by whom his valor had been 
rewarded; and then, sinking yet farther forward, 
lay prostrate at her feet. 

There was general consternation, for the strange 
knight had been recognized as Ivanhoe, the disin- 
herited son of Cedric; and it was seen that he was 
dangerously wounded. Rather tardily Cedric gave 
directions that he should be cared for by his own 
physician; but already he had been removed by 
Rebecca to her father’s house, where she herself 
was nursing him.) 


VI. 

THE HOLY CLERK OF COPMANHURST. 

' (Space permits us to give but a hasty summary of 
the concluding scenes of this romantic story. John 
of Anjou hears that “the devil is unchained,” by 
which he understands that Richard is in England. 
The sports are hastily concluded, therefore, with a 
trial of archery, in which one Locksley [who after- 
wards turns out to be the outlaw Robin Hood] 
splits a willow wand no bigger than a man’s thumb 
at a distance of a hundred yards. 

In the meantime a plot has been hatched up 


84 


SCOTT 


among some of John’s followers to capture and 
forcibly marry Rowena. As Cedric and his party 
are travelling homeward, they fall in, also, with 
Isaac of York and his daughter, who are escorting 
a litter in which is concealed a “sick friend” — no 
other than Ivanhoe — and the whole band travel on 
together until the Norman nobles, in the guise of 
outlaws, fall upon them and make prisoners of 
them all, only Gurth and Wamba escaping. The 
prisoners are placed in the castle of Front-de- 
Boeuf ; but trouble is brewing for their captors, 
since Wamba and Gurth have fallen in with Locks- 
ley, who promises with his band to attack the castle. 

The Black Knight, while this has been going on, 
has been journeying through lonely forest glades, 
until at night he comes to a solitary hermit’s cell. 
The Clerk of Copmanhurst, as he calls himself [in 
whom will be recognized Friar Tuck, the confes- 
sor of Robin Hood’s band of outlaws] at first gives 
the knight a cheerless welcome, setting before him 
only dried peas and water.) 

The hermit, after a long grace, which had once 
been Latin, but of which original language few 
traces remained, excepting here and there the long 
rolling termination of some word or phrase, set ex- 
ample to his guest by modestly putting into a very 
large mouth, furnished with teeth which might have 
ranked with those of a boar both in sharpness 
and whiteness, some three or four dried pease, a 
miserable grist, as it seemed, for so large and able 
a mill. 

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an 


IVANHOE 


85 


example, laid aside his helmet, his corselet, and the 
greater part of his armour, and showed to the her- 
mit a head thick-curled with yellow hair, high 
features, blue eyes, remarkably bright and spark- 
ling, a mouth well formed, having an upper lip 
clothed with mustachioes darker than his hair, and 
bearing altogether the look of a bold, daring, and 
enterprising man, with which his strong form well 
corresponded. 

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the con- 
fidence of his guest, threw back his cowl, and 
showed a round bullet-head belonging to a man in 
the prime of life. His close-shaven crown, sur- 
rounded by a circle of stiff curled black hair, had 
something the appearance of a parish pinfold be- 
girt by its high hedge. The features expressed noth- 
ing of monastic austerity or of ascetic privations; 
on the contrary, it was a bold bluff countenance, 
with broad black eyebrows, a well-turned forehead, 
and cheeks as round and vermillion as those of a 
trumpeter, from which descended a long and curly 
black beard. Such a visage, joined to the brawny 
form of the holy man, spoke rather of sirloins and 
haunches than of pease and pulse. This incongru- 
ity did not escape the guest. After he had with 
great difficulty accomplished the mastication of a 
mouthful of the dried pease, he found it absolutely 
necessary to request his pious entertainer to fur- 
nish him with some liquor ; who replied to his re- 
quest by placing before him a large can of the 
purest water from the fountain. 

“Tt is from the well of St. Dunstan,” said he, “in 


86 


SCOTT 


which, betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five hun- 
dred heathen Danes and Britons — ^blessed be his 
name !” And applying his black beard to the pitch- 
er, he took a draught much more moderate in quan- 
tity than his encomium seemed to warrant. 

“It seems to me, reverend father,” said the 
knight, “that the small morsels which you eat, to- 
gether with this holy but somewhat thin beverage, 
have thriven with you marvellously. You appear a 
man more fit to win the ram at a wrestling-match, 
or the ring at a bout at quarter-staflf, or the buck- 
lers at a sword-play, than to linger out your time 
in this desolate wilderness, saying masses, and liv- 
ing upon parched pease and cold water.” 

“Sir Knight,” answered the hermit, “your 
thoughts, like those of the ignorant laity, are ac- 
cording to the flesh. It has pleased Our Lady and 
my patron saint to bless the pittance to which I 
restrain myself, even as the pulse and water was 
blessed to the children Shadrach, Meshech, and 
Abednego, who drank the same rather than defile 
themselves with the wine and meats which were 
appointed them by the King of the Saracens.” 

“Holy father,” said the knight, “upon whose coun- 
tenance it hath pleased Heaven to work such a mir- 
acle, permit a sinful layman to crave thy name?” 

“Thou mayst call me,” answered the hermit, “the 
Clerk of Copmanhurst, for so I am termed in these 
parts. They add, it is true, the epithet holy, but I 
stand not upon that, as being unworthy of such ad- 
dition. And now, valiant knight, may I pray ye 
for the name of my honourable guest?” 


IVANHOE 


87 


“Truly,” said the knight, “Holy Clerk of Cop- 
manhurst, men call me in these parts the Black 
Knight; many, sir, add to it the epithet of Slug- 
gard, whereby I am no way ambitious to be distin- 
guished.” 

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling 
at his guest’s reply. 

“I see,” said he, “Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou 
art a man of prudence and of counsel; and, more- 
over, I see that my poor monastic fare likes thee 
not, accustomed, perhaps, as thou hast been to the 
license of courts and of camps, and the luxuries of 
cities; and now I bethink me. Sir Sluggard, that 
when the charitable keeper of this forest-walk left 
these dogs for my protection, and also those bundles 
of forage, he left me also some food, which, being 
unfit for my use, the very recollection of it had 
escaped me amid my more weighty meditations.” 

“I dare be sworn he did so,” said the knight; 
“I was convinced that there was better food in the 
cell. Holy Clerk, since you first doffed your cowl. 
Your keeper is ever a jovial fellow; and none who 
beheld thy grinders contending with these pease, 
and thy throat flooded with this ungenial element, 
could see thee doomed to such horse-provender 
and horse-beverage (pointing to the provisions 
upon the table), and refrain from mending thy 
cheer. Let us see the keeper’s bounty, therefore, 
without delay.” 

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, 
in which there was a sort of comic expression of 
hesitation, as if uncertain how far he should act 


SCOTT 


prudently in trusting his guest. There was, how- 
ever, as much of bold frankness in the knight’s 
countenance as was possible to be expressed by 
features. His smile, too, had something in it irre- 
sistibly comic, and gave an assurance of faith and 
loyalty, with which his host could not refrain from 
sympathizing. 

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the her- 
mit went to the further side of the hut, and opened 
a hutch, which was concealed with great care and 
some ingenuity. Out of the recesses of a dark 
closet, into which this aperture gave admittance, he 
brought a large pasty, baked in a pewter platter of 
unusual dimensions. This mighty dish he placed 
before his guest, who, using his poniard to cut it 
open, lost no time in making himself acquainted 
with its contents. 

“How long is it since the good keeper has been 
here?” said the knight to his host, after having 
swallowed several hasty morsels of this reinforce- 
ment to the hermit’s good cheer. 

“About two months,” answered the father, has- 
tily. 

“By the true Lord,” answered the knight, “every- 
thing in your hermitage is miraculous, Holy Clerk! 
for I would have been sworn that the fat buck 
which furnished this venison had been running on 
foot within the week.’* 

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by 
this observation ; and, moreover, he made but a 
poor figure while gazing on the diminution of the 
pasty on which his guest was making desperate in- 


IVANHOE 


roads — a warfare in which his previous profession 
of abstinence left him no pretext for joining. 

“I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,” said the 
knight, stopping short of a sudden, “and I bethink 
me it is a custom there that every host who enter- 
tains a guest shall assure him of the wholesomeness 
of his food by partaking of it along with him. Far 
be it from me to suspect so holy a man of aught 
inhospitable; nevertheless, I will be highly bound 
to you would you comply with this Eastern cus- 
tom.” 

“To ease your unnecessary scruples. Sir Knight, 
I will for once depart from my rule,” replied the 
hermit. And as there were no forks in those days, 
his clutches were instantly in the bowels of the 
pasty. 

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed 
matter of rivalry between the guest and the enter- 
tainer which should display the best appetite; and 
although the former had probably fasted longer, yet 
the hermit fairly surpassed him. 

“Holy Clerk,” said the knight, when his hunger 
was appeased, “I would gage my good horse yon- 
der against a zecchin, that that same honest keeper 
to whom we are obliged for the venison has left 
thee a stoup of wine, or a runlet of canary, or some 
such trifle, by way of ally to this noble pasty. This 
would be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unwor- 
thy to dwell in the memory of so rigid an anchor- 
ite; yet, I think, were you to search yonder crypt 
once more, you would find that I am right in my 
conjecture.” 


90 


SCOTT 


The hermit only replied by a grin; and return- 
ing to the hutch, he produced a leathern bottle, 
which might contain about four quarts. He also 
brought forth two large drinking cups, made out of 
the horn of the urus, and hooped with silver. Hav- 
ing made this goodly provision for washing down 
the supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremoni- 
ous scruple necessary on his part ; but filling both 
cups, and saying, in the Saxon fashion, “IVaes hael, 
Sir Sluggish Knight !” he emptied his own at a 
draught. 

*'Drinc hael, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst !” an- 
swered the warrior, and did his host reason in a 
similar brimmer. 

“Holy Clerk,” said the stranger, after the first 
cup was thus swallowed, “I cannot but marvel that 
a man possessed of such thews and sinews as thine, 
and who therewithal shows the talent of so goodly 
a trencherman, should think of abiding by himself 
in this wilderness. In my judgment, you are fitter 
to keep a castle or a fort, eating of the fat and 
drinking of the strong, than to live here upon pulse 
and water, or even upon the charity of the keeper. 
At least, were I as thou, I should find myself both 
disport and plenty out of the king’s deer. There 
is many a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck 
will never be missed that goes to the use of St. 
Dunstan’s chaplain.” 

“Sir Sluggish Knight,” replied the Clerk, “these 
are dangerous words, and I pray you to forbear 
them. I am true hermit to the king and law, and 
were I to spoil my liege’s game, I should be sure 


IVANHOE 


91 


of the prison, and, an my gown saved me not, were 
in some peril of hanging.” 

“Nevertheless, were I as thou,” said the knight, 
“I would take my walk by moonlight, when forest- 
ers and keepers were warm in bed, and ever and 
anon — as I pattered my prayers — I would let fly a 
shaft among the herds of dun deer that feed in the 
glades. Resolve me. Holy Clerk, hast thou never 
practiced such a pastime?” 

“Friend Sluggard,” answered the hermit, “thou 
hast seen all that can concern thee of my housekeep- 
ing, and something more than he deserves who 
takes up his quarters by violence. Credit me, it is 
better to enjoy the good which God sends thee, than 
to be impertinently curious how it comes. Fill thy 
cup, and welcome; and do not, I pray thee, by fur- 
ther impertinent inquiries, put me to show that thou 
couldst hardly have made good th}^ lodging had I 
been earnest to oppose thee.” 

“By my faith,” said the knight, “thou makest me 
more curious than ever! Thou art the most mys- 
terious hermit I ever met; and I will know more 
of thee ere we part. As for thy threats, know, holy 
man, thou speakest to one whose trade it is to find 
out danger wherever it is to be met with.” 

“Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,” said the 
hermit, “respecting thy valour much, but deeming 
wondrous slightly of thy discretion. If thou wilt 
take equal arms with me, I will give thee, in all 
friendship and brotherly love, such sufficing pen- 
ance and complete absolution that thou shalt not 


92 SCOTT 

for the next twelve months sin the sin of excess 
of curiosity/' 

The knight pledged him, and desired him to name 
his weapons. 

“There is none,” replied the hermit, “from the 
scissors of Delilah and the tenpenny nail of Jael 
to the scimitar of Goliath, at which I am not a 
match for thee. But, if I am to make the election, 
what sayest thou, good friend, to these trinkets?” 

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took 
out from it a couple of broadswords and bucklers, 
such as were used by the yeomanry of the period. 
The knight, who watched his motions, observed 
that this second place of concealment was furnished 
with two or three good long-bows, a cross-bow, a 
bundle of bolts for the latter, and half a dozen 
sheaves of arrows for the former. A harp, and 
other matters of a very uncanonical appearance, 
were also visible when this dark recess was opened. 

“I promise thee, brother Clerk,” said he, “I will 
ask thee no more offensive questions. The contents 
of that cupboard are an answer to all my inquiries ; 
and I see a weapon there (here he stooped and took 
out the harp) on which I would more gladly prove 
my skill with thee than at the sword and buckler,” 

“I hope. Sir Knight,” said the hermit, “thou hast 
given no good reason for thy surname of the Slug- 
gard. I do promise thee, I suspect thee grievously. 
Nevertheless, thou art my guest, and I will not put 
thy manhood to the proof without thine own free 
will. Sit thee down, then, and fill thy cup ; let us 
drink, sing, and be merry. If thou knowest ever 


IVANHOE 


93 


a good lay, thou shalt be welcome to a nook of 
pasty at Copmanhurst so long as I serve the chapel 
of St. Dunstan, which, please God, shall be till I 
change my gray covering for one of green turf. But 
come, fill a flagon, for it will crave some time to 
tune the harp; and naught pitches the voice and 
sharpens the ear like a cup of wine. For my part, 
I love to feel the grape at my very finger-ends be- 
fore they make the harp-strings tinkle.” 

VII. 

THE STORMING OF THE CASTLE. 

(Their midnight revels are broken in upon by 
Locksley, who tells them of the adventure in hand. 
The Black Knight volunteers his services, which are 
accepted, and we soon find two hundred of Locks- 
ley’s archers, as well as a host of Cedric’s retainers 
and friends, who have heard of his capture, all gath- 
ered to storm the castle of Front-de-Bceuf. 

And now heroic deeds begin. First let us see 
what has been taking place within the castle. 

Bois-Guilbert, as reward for helping his friend 
de Bracy capture the fair Saxon Rowena, claims the 
beautiful Jewess Rebecca, and goes to woo her. 
But he finds her as courageous as she is beautiful.) 

“Stand back,” said Rebecca, “stand back, and hear 
me ere thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly! 
My strength thou mayst indeed overpower, for God 
made women weak, and trusted their defense to 
man’s generosity. But I will proclaim thy villainy. 


94 


SCOTT 


Templar, from one end of Europe to the other. I 
will owe to the superstition of thy brethren what 
their compassion might refuse me. Each preceptory 
— each chapter of thy order, shall learn that, like 
a heretic, thou hast sinned with a Jewess. Those 
who tremble not at thy crime will hold thee accursed 
for having so far dishonoured the cross thou wearest 
as to follow a daughter of my people.” 

“Thou art keen-witted, Jewess,” replied the Tem- 
plar, well aware of the truth of what she spoke, and 
that the rules of his order condemned in the most 
positive manner, and under high penalties, such 
intrigues as he now prosecuted, and that in some 
instances even degradation had followed upon it — 
“thou art sharp-witted,” he said; “but loud must 
be thy voice of complaint if it is heard beyond the 
iron wall of this castle; within these, murmurs, 
laments, appeals to justice, and screams for help die 
alike silent away. One thing only can save thee, 
Rebecca. Submit to thy fate, embrace our religion, 
and thou shalt go forth in such state that many a 
Norman lady shall 3deld as well in pomp as in beauty 
to the favourite of the best lance among the de- 
fenders of the Temple.” 

“Submit to my fate !” said Rebecca ; “and, sacred 
Heaven! to what fate? Embrace thy religion I and 
what religion can it be that harbours such a villain? 
Thou the best lance of the Templars ! Craven 
knight I — forsworn priest I I spit at thee and I defy 
thee. The God of Abraham’s promise hath opened 
an escape to his daughter — even from this abyss 
of infamy!” 


IVANHOE 


95 


As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window 
which led to the bartizan, and in an instant after 
stood on the very edge of the parapet, with not 
the slightest screen between her and the tremendous 
depth below. Unprepared for such a desperate ef- 
fort, for she had hitherto stood perfectly motion- 
less, Bois-Guilbert had neither time to intercept 
nor to stop her. As he offered to advance, she ex- 
claimed, “Remain where thou art, proud Templar, 
or at thy choice advance ! — one foot nearer, and I 
plunge myself from the precipice; my body shall 
be crushed out of the very form of humanity upon 
the stones of that courtyard ere it become the vic- 
tim of thy brutality!” 

(The haughty Templar is vanquished for the time 
being, and withdraws, while Rebecca, in the excite- 
ment incident to the attack on the castle, is permit- 
ted to care for the wounded Ivanhoe. 

In the meantime the outlaws have demanded the 
surrender of the castle, and the inmates have sent 
back word that all the prisoners will be hanged 
before noon, and their friends without had best send 
a priest to confess them. Such a priest they decide 
to send, to spy out the condition within. For this 
service Wamba, the jester, volunteers. Once within 
the castle walls, he nobly compels his master Cedric 
to exchange garments with him and escape. 

And now the battle is on. The Black Knight heads 
the attacking party, and soon the outer works are 
taken. Within, Rebecca stands at Ivanhoe’s win- 
dow, protected by an ancient buckler she has taken 


SC0TT 


S6 

from the wall, and tells him, now restless with ex- 
citement, how the battle progresses.) 

Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime 
passage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity, 
and with his ardent desire to mingle in the affray 
of which these sounds were the introduction. “If 
I could but drag myself,” he said, “to yonder win- 
dow, that I might see how this brave game is like 
to go! If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or battle- 
ax to strike were it but a single blow for our deliv- 
erance! It is in vain — it is in vain — I am alike 
nerveless and weaponless!” 

“Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Re- 
becca, “the sounds have ceased of a sudden; it may 
be they join not battle.” 

“Thou knowest nought of it,” said Wilfred, im- 
patiently; “this dead pause only shows that the men 
are at their posts on the walls, and expecting an 
instant attack; what we have heard was but the 
distant muttering of the storm: it will burst anon 
in all its fury. Could I but reach yonder window !” 

“Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble 
knight,” replied his attendant. Observing his ex- 
treme solicitude, she firmly added, “I myself will 
stand at the lattice, and describe to you as I can 
what passes without.” 

“You must not — you shall not!” exclaimed Ivan- 
hoe. “Each lattice, each aperture, will soon be a 
mark for the archers; some random shaft ” 

“It shall be welcome !” murmured Rebecca, as with 
firm pace she ascended two or three steps, which 
led to the window of which they spoke. 


IVANHOE 


S7 

“Rebecca — dear Rebecca !“ exclaimed Ivanhoe, 
“this is no maiden’s pastime; do not expose thyself 
to wounds and death, and render me forever mis- 
erable for having given the occasion; at least, cover 
thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show as 
little of your person at the lattice as may be.” 

Following with wonderful promptitude the direc- 
tions of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protec- 
tion of the large ancient shield, which she placed 
against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with 
tolerable security to herself, could witness part of 
what was passing without the castle, and report to 
Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were 
making for the storm. Indeed, the situation which 
she thus obtained was peculiarly favourable for this 
purpose, because, being placed on an angle of the 
main building, Rebecca could not only see what 
passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but also 
commanded a view of the outwork likely to be the 
first object of the meditated assault. It was an ex- 
terior fortification of no great height or strength, 
intended to protect the postern-gate, through which 
Cedric had recently been dismissed by Front-de- 
Boeuf. The castle moat divided this species of bar- 
bican from the rest of the -fortress, so that, in case 
of its being taken, it was easy to cut 'off the com- 
munication with the main building, by withdrawing 
the temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sally- 
port corresponding to the postern of the castle, and 
the whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. 
Rebecca could observe, from the number of men 
placed for the defence of this post, that the besieged 


98 


SCOTT 


entertained apprehensions for its safety; and from 
the mustering of the assailants in a direction nearly 
opposite to the outwork, it seemed no less plain 
that it had been selected as a vulnerable point of 
attack. 

These appearances she hastily communicated to 
Ivanhoe, and added, “The skirts of the woods seem 
lined with archers, although only a few are ad- 
vanced from its dark shadow.” 

“Under what banner?” asked Ivanhoe. 

“Under no ensign of war winch I can observe,” 
answered Rebecca. 

“A singular novelty,” muttered the knight, “to 
advance to storm such a castle without pennon or 
banner displayed ! Seest thou who they be that act 
as leaders?” 

“A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most con- 
spicuous,” said the Jewess; “he alone is armed from 
head to heel, and seems to assume the direction of 
all around him.” 

“What device does he bear on his shield?” re- 
plied Ivanhoe. 

“Something resembling a bar of iron, and a pad- 
lock painted blue on the black shield.” 

“A fetterlock and shackle-bolt azure,” said Ivan- 
hoe; “I know not who may bear the device, but well 
I ween it might now be mine own. Canst thou not 
see the motto?” 

“Scarce the device itself at this distance,” replied 
Rebecca; “but when the sun glances fair upon his 
shield it shows as I tell you.” 


IVANHOE 99 

“Seem there no other leaders?" exdamed the 
anxious inquirer. 

“None of mark and distinction that I can behold 
from this station,” said Rebecca ; “but doubtless the 
other side of the castle is also assailed. They ap- 
pear even now preparing to advance — God of Zion 
protect us! What a dreadful sight I Those who 
advance first bear huge shields and defences made 
of plank; the others follow, bending their bows as 
they come on. They raise their bows I God of 
•Moses, forgive the creatures Thou hast made!” 

Her description was here suddenly interrupted 
by the signal for assault, which was given by the 
blast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a 
flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battle- 
ments, which, mingled wdth the deep and hollow 
clang of the nakers (a species of kettle-drum), re- 
torted in notes of defiance the challenge of the 
enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the 
fearful din, the assailants crying, “St. George for 
merry England I” and the Normans answering them 
with loud crys of ‘'En avant De Bracy! Beau-seant ! 
Beau-seant ! Front-de-Bocuf a la rcscousse!" accord- 
ing to the war-cries of their different commanders. 

It w^as not, how'ever, by clamour that the contest 
w'as to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the 
assailants were met by an equally vigorous defence 
on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained 
by their woodland pastimes to the most effective 
use of the long-bow, shot, to use the appropriate 
phrase of the time, so “wholly together,” that no 
point at which a defender could show the least part 


Lofa 


100 


SCOTT 


of his person escaped their cloth-yard shafts. By 
this heavy discharge, which continued as thick and 
sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrow 
had its individual aim and flew by scores together 
against each embrasure and opening in the parapets, 
as well as at every window where a defender 
either occasionally had post, or might be suspected 
to be stationed — by this sustained discharge, two 
or three of the garrison were slain and several 
others wounded. But, confident in their armour of 
proof, and in the cover which their situation af- 
forded, the followers of Front-de-Bceuf and his 
allies showed an obstinacy in defence proportioned 
to the fury of the attack, and replied with the 
discharge of their large cross-bows, as well as with 
their long-bows, slings, and other missile weapons, 
to the close and continued shower of arrows; and, 
as the assailments were necessarily but indifferently 
protected, did considerably more damage than they 
received at their hand. The whizzing of shafts and 
of missiles on both sides was only interrupted by 
the shouts which arose when either side inflicted 
or sustained some notable loss. 

“And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,” 
exclaimed Ivanhoe, “while the game that gives me 
freedom or death is played out by the hand of 
others ! Look from the window once again, kind 
maiden, but beware that you are not marked by the 
archers beneath. Look out once more, and tell me 
if they advance to the storm.” 

With patient courage, strengthened by the inter- 
val which she had employed in mental devotion. 


IVANHOE 


101 


Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering 
herself, however, so as not to be visible from be- 
neath. 

‘‘What dost thou see, Rebecca?” again demanded 
the wounded knight. 

“Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick 
as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen 
who shoot them.” 

“That cannot endure,” said Ivanhoe ; “if they 
press not right on to carry the castle by pure force 
of arms, the archery may avail but little against 
stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight or 
the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears 
himself; for as the leader is, so will his follow- 
ers be.” 

“I see him not,” said Rebecca. 

“Foul craven !” exclaimed Ivanhoe ; “does he 
blench from the helm when the wind blows high- 
est?” 

“He blenches not! — he blenches not!” said Re- 
becca, “I see him now; he leads a body of men 
close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They 
pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down 
the barriers with axes. His high black plume floats 
abroad over the throng, like a raven over the field 
of the slain. They have made a breach in the bar- 
riers — they rush in — they are thrust back! Front- 
de-Boeuf heads the defenders ; I see his gigantic 
form above the press. They throng again to the 
breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and 
man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meeting of 


102 SCOTT 

two fierce tides — the conflict of two oceans moved 
by adverse winds !” 

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable 
longer to endure a sight so terrible. 

“Look forth again, Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, mis- 
taking the cause of her retiring; “the archery 
must in some degree have ceased, since they are 
now fighting hand to hand. Look again, there is 
now less danger.” 

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immedi- 
ately exclaimed, “Holy prophets of the law! Front- 
de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand 
on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, 
who watch the progress of the strife. Heaven 
strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the 
captive.!” She then uttered a loud shriek, and ex- 
claimed, “He is down ! — he is down !” 

“Who is down?” cried Ivanhoe, “for our dear 
Lady’s sake, tell me which has fallen?” 

“The Black Knight,” answered Rebecca, faintly; 
then instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness: 
“But no — but no ! the name of the Lord of Hosts 
be blessed ! he is on foot again, and fights as if 
there were twenty men’s strength in his single arm. 
His sword is broken — he snatches an axe from a 
yeoman — he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on 
blow. The giant stoops and totters like an oak un- 
der the steel of the woodman — he falls — falls!” 

“Front-de-Boeuf?” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

“Front-de-Boeuf,” answered the Jewess. “His 
men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty 
Templar; their united force compels the champion 


IVANHOE 103 

to pause. They drag Front-de-Boeuf within the 
walls.” 

“The assailants have won the barriers, have they 
not?” said Ivanhoe. 

“They have — they have!” exclaimed Rebecca; 
‘and they press the besieged hard upon the outer 
wall ; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, 
and endeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of each 
other; down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees 
upon their heads, and as fast as they bear the 
wounded to the rear fresh men supply their places 
in the assault. Great God ! hast Thou given men 
Thine own image that it should be thus cruelly 
defaced by the hands of their brethren!” 

“rhink not of that,” said Ivanhoe; “this is no 
time for such thoughts. Who yield? who push their 
way ?” 

“The ladders are thrown down,” replied Rebecca, 
shuddering; “the soldiers lie groveling under them 
like crushed reptiles. The besieged have the bet- 
ter.” 

“St. George strike for us !” exclaimed the knight ; 
“do the false yeomen give way?” 

“No!” exclaimed Rebecca, “they bear themselves 
right yeomanly. The Black Knight approaches the 
postern with his huge axe; the thundering blows 
which he deals, you may hear them above all the 
din and shouts of the battle. Stones and beams are 
hailed down on the bold champion: he regards them 
no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers!” 

"By St. John of Acre,” said Ivanhoe, raising him- 


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self joyfully on his couch, “methought there was but 
one man in England that might do such a deed!” 

“The postern gate shakes,” continued Rebecca — “it 
crashes — it is splintered by his blows — they rush in 
— the outwork is won. O God! they hurl the de- 
fenders from the battlements — they throw them into 
the moat. O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them 
that can resist no longer!” 

“The bridge — the bridge which communicates with 
the castle — have they won that pass ?” exclaimed 
Ivanhoe. 

“No,” replied Rebecca; “the Templar has de- 
stroyed the plank on which they crossed; few of the 
defenders escaped with him into the castle — the 
shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate of the 
others. Alas ! I see it is still more difficult to look 
upon victory than upon battle.” 

“What do they now, maiden?” said Ivanhoe; “look 
forth yet again — this is no time to faint at blood- 
shed.” 

“It is over for the time,” answered Rebecca; “our 
friends strengthen themselves within the outwork 
which they have mastered, and it affords them so 
good a shelter from the foeman’s shot that the 
garrison only bestow a few bolts on it from in- 
terval to interval, as if rather to disquiet than ef- 
fectually to injure them.” 

“Our friends,” said Wilfred, “will surely not aban- 
don an enterprise so gloriously begun and so hap- 
pily attained. Oh, no! I will put my faith in the 
good knight whose axe hath rent heart-of-oak and 
bars of iron. Singular,” he again muttered to him- 


IVANHOE 


105 


elf, “if there be two who can do a deed of such 
derring-do ! A fetterlock, and a shackle-bolt on a 
field sable — what may that mean? Seest thou nought 
else, Rebecca, by which the Black Knight may be 
distinguished ?” 

“Nothing,” said the Jewess; “all about him is 
black as the wing of the night raven. Nothing can 
I spy that can mark him further; but having once 
seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks 
I could know him again among a thousand warriors. 
He rushes to the fray as if he were summoned to a 
banquet. There is more than mere strength — there 
seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the cham- 
pion were given to every blow which he deals upon 
his enemies. God assoilzie him of the sin of blood- 
shed ! It is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how 
the arm and heart of one man can triumph over 
hundreds.” 

“Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, “thou hast painted a 
hero ; surely they rest but to refresh their force, or 
to provide the means of crossing the moat. Under 
such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be, 
there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, 
no yielding up a gallant emprize, since the difficul- 
ties which render it arduous render it also glorious. 
I swear by the honour of my house — I vow by the 
name of my bright lady-love, I would endure ten 
years’ captivity to fight one day by that good knight’s 
side in such a quarrel as this !” 

“Alas!” said Rebecca, leaving her station at the 
window, and approaching the couch of the wounded 
knight, “this impatient yearning after action — this 


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struggling with and repining at your present weak- 
ness will not fail to injure your returning health. 
How couldst thou hope to inflict wounds on others, 
ere that be healed which thou thyself hast received?” 

“Rebecca,” he replied, “thou knowest not how 
impossible it is for one trained to actions of chiv- 
alry to remain passive as a priest, or a woman, when 
they are acting deeds of honour around him. The 
love of battle is the food upon which we live — the 
dust of the melee is the breath of our nostrils ! We 
live not — we wish not to live — longer than while we 
are victorious and renowned. Such, maiden, are the 
laws of chivalry to which we are sworn, and to 
which we offer all that we hold dear.” 

“Alas !” said the fair Jewess, “and what is it, 
valiant knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a 
demon of vain glory, and a passing through the fire 
to Moloch? What remains to you as the prize of 
all the blood you have spilled, of all the travail and 
pain you have endured, of all the tears which your 
deeds have caused, when death hath broken the 
strong man’s spear, and overtaken the speed of his 
war-horse?” 

“What remains?” cried Ivanhoe. “Glory, maiden — 
glory! which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our 
name.” 

“Glory!” continued Rebecca; “alasj is the rusted 
mail which hangs as a hatchment over the cham- 
pion’s dim and mouldering tomb, is the defaced 
sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk 
can hardly read to the inquiring pilgrim — are these 
sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of every kindly 


IVANHOE 


107 


affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may 
make others miserable? Or is there such virtue 
in the rude rhymes of a wandering bard, that domes- 
tic love, kindly affection, peace and happiness, are so 
wildly bartered, to become the hero of those ballads 
which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls 
over their evening ale?” 

“By the soul of Hereward !” replied the knight, 
impatiently, “thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest 
not what. Thou wouldst quench the pure light of 
chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble from 
the base, the gentle knight from the churl and the 
savage; which rates our life far, far beneath the 
pitch of our honour, raises us victorious over pain, 
toil, and suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil 
but disgrace. Thou art no Christian, Rebecca; and 
to thee are unknown those high feelings which swell 
the bosom of a noble maiden when her lover hath 
done some deed of emprize which sanctions his 
flame. Chivalry ! Why, maiden, she is the nurse of 
pure and high affection, the stay of the oppressed, 
the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power 
of the tyrant. Nobility were but an empty name 
without her, and liberty finds the best protection in 
her lance and her swojd.” 

“I am, indeed,” said Rebecca, “sprung from a race 
whose courage was distinguished in the defence of 
their own land, but who warred not, even while yet 
a nation, save at the command of the Deity, or in 
defending their country from oppression. The sound 
of the trumpet wakes Judah no longer, and her de- 
spised children are now but the unresisting victims 


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of hostile and military oppression. Well hast thou 
spoken, Sir Knight : until the God of Jacob shall 
raise up for His chosen people a second Gideon, or 
a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the Jewish damsel 
to speak of battle or of war.” 

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument 
in a tone of sorrow, which deeply expressed her 
sense of the degradation of her people, embittered 
perhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe considered her as 
one not entitled to interfere in a case of honour, 
and incapable of entertaining or expressing senti- 
ments of honour and generosity. 

“How little he knows this bosom,” she said, “to 
imagine that cowardice or meanness of soul must 
needs be its guests, because I have censured the 
fantastic chivalry of the Nazarenes ! Would to 
Heaven that the shedding of mine own blood, drop 
by drop, could redeem the captivity of Judah ! Nay, 
would to God it could avail to set free my father, 
and this his benefactor, from the chains of the op- 
pressor! The proud Christian should then see 
whether the daughter of God’s chosen people dared 
not to die as bravely as the vainest Nazarene maiden 
that boasts her descent from some petty chieftain 
of the rude and frozen north!” 

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded 
knight. 

“He sleeps,” she said; “nature exhausted by suffer- 
ance and the waste of spirits, his wearied frame em- 
braces the first moment of temporary relaxation to 
sink into slumber. Alas ! is it a crime that I should 
look upon him, when it may be for the last time? 


IVANHOE 


109 


When yet but a short space, and those fair features 
will be no longer animated by the bold and buoyant 
spirit which forsakes them not even in sleep! When 
the nostrils shall be distended, the mouth agape, the 
eyes fixed and bloodshot; and when the proud and 
noble knight may be trodden on by the lowest caitiff 
of this accursed castle, yet stir not when the heel is 
lifted up against him! And my father! — oh, my 
father ! evil is it with his daughter, when his grey 
hairs are not remembered because of the golden 
locks of youth ! What know I but that these evils 
are the messengers of Jehovah’s wrath to the un- 
natural child who thinks of a stranger’s captivity 
before a parent’s ? who forgets the desolation of 
Judah, and looks upon the comeliness of a Gentile 
and a stranger? But I will tear this folly from my 
heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!” 

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat 
down at a distance from the couch of the wounded 
knight, with her back turned towards it, fortifying 
or endeavoring to fortify, her mind not only against 
the impending evils from without, but also against 
those treacherous feelings which assailed her from 
within 


110 


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VIII. 

THE DEATH OF REGINALD FRONT-DE- 
BCEUF. 

(Nothing is more dramatic than the death of 
Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, lord of the castle. He has 
been wounded and lies on his bed alone while the 
battle rages without.) 

“Where be these dog-priests now,” growled the 
baron, “who set such price on their ghostly mum- 
mery? — where be all those unshod Carmelites, for 
whom old Front-de-Boeuf founded the convent of 
St. Anne, robbing his heir of many a fair rood of 
meadow, and many a fat field and close — where be 
the greedy hounds now? Swilling, I warrant me, 
at the ale, or playing their juggling tricks at the bed- 
side of some miserly churl. Me, the heir of their 
founder — me whom their foundation binds them to 
pray for — me — ungrateful villains as they are! — they 
suffer to die like the houseless dog on yonder com- 
mon, unshriven and unhouseled! Tell the Templar 
to come hither ; he is a priest, and may do some- 
thing. But no I as 'well confess myself to the devil 
as to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who recks neither of 
Heaven nor of Hell. I have heard old men talk of 
prayer — prayer by their own voice — such need not 
to court or to bribe the false priest. But I — I 
dare not!” 

“Lives Reginald Front-deBceuf,” said a broken and 
shrill voice close by his bedside, “to say there 
is that which he dares not?” 


IVANHOE 


111 


The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of 
Front-de-Boeuf heard, in this strange interruption 
to his soliloquy, the voice of one of those demons 
who, as the superstition of the times believed, be- 
set the beds of dying men, to distract their thoughts, 
and turn them from the meditations which con- 
cerned their eternal welfare. He shuddered and 
drew himself together ; but, instantly summoning 
up his wonted resolution, he exclaimed, “Who is 
there? what art thou, that darest to echo my words 
in a tone like that of the night raven? Come 
before my couch that I may see thee.” 

“I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” 
replied the voice. 

“Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape, 
if thou be’st indeed a fiend,” replied the dying 
knight ; “think not that I will blench from thee. 
By the eternal dungeon, could I but grapple with 
these horrors that hover round me as I have done 
with mortal dangers. Heaven or Hell should never 
say that I shrunk from the conflict!” 

“Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” 
said the almost unearthly voice — “on rebellion, on 
rapine, on murder! Who stirred up the licentious 
John to war against his grey-headed father — against 
his generous brother?” 

“Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,” replied Front-de- 
Boeuf, “thou best in thy throat! Not I stirred John 
to rebellion — not I alone; there were fifty knights 
and barons, the flower of the midland counties, bet- 
ter men never laid lance in rest. And must I answer 
for the fault done by fifty? False fiend, I defy thee! 


112 


SCOTT 


Depart, and haunt my couch no more. Let me die 
in peace if thou be mortal; if thou be a demon, thy 
time is not yet come.” 

'Tn peace thou shalt not die,” repeated the voice; 
“even in death shalt thou think on thy murders — 
on the groans which this castle has echoed — on 
the blood that is engrained in its floors!” 

“Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,” 
answered Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and con- 
strained laugh. “The infidel Jew — it was merit with 
Heaven to deal with him as I did, else wherefore 
are men canonized who dip their hands in the 
blood of the Saracens? The Saxon porkers whom 
I have slain — they were the foes of my country, and 
of my lineage, and of my liege lord. Ho 1 ho ! thou 
seest there is no crevice in my coat of plate. Art 
thou fled? art thou silenced?” 

“No, foul parricide!” replied the voice; “think of 
thy father — think of his death! — think of his ban- 
quet-room flooded with his gore, and that poured 
forth by the hand of a son !” 

“Ha!” answered the Baron, after a long pause, 
“and thou knowest that, thou art indeed the 
Author of Evil, and as omniscient as the monks call 
thee ! That secret I deemed locked in my own 
breast, and in that of one besides — the temptress, 
the partaker of my guilt. Go, leave me, fiend ! 
and seek the Saxon witch Ulrica, who alone could 
tell thee what she and I alone witnessed. Go, I 
say, to her, who washed the wounds, and straighted 
the corpse, and gave to the slain man the outward 
show of one parted in time and in the course of 


IVANHOE 


113 


nature. Go to her; she was my temptress, the foul 
provoker, the more foul rewarder, of the deed ; 
let her, as well as I, taste of the tortures which 
anticipate Hell!” 

“She already tastes them,” said Ulrica, stepping 
before the couch of Front-de-Boeuf ; “she hath long 
drunken of this cup, and its bitterness is now sweet- 
ened to see that thou dost partake it. Grind not thy 
teeth, Front-de-Boeuf — roll not thine eyes — clench 
not thy hand, nor shake it at me with that ges- 
ture of menace ! The hand which, like that of 
thy renowned ancestor who gained thy name, could 
have broken with one stroke the skull of a moun- 
tain-bull, is now unnerved and powerless as mine 
own !” 

“Vile, murderous hag!” replied Front-de-Boeuf — 
“detestable screech-owl ! it is then thou who art 
come to exult over the ruins thou hast assisted to 
lay low?” 

“Ay, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” answered she, “it 
is Ulrica ! — it is the daughter of the murdered 
Torquil Wolfganger! — it is the sister of his slaught- 
ered sons ! it is she who demands of thee, and of 
thy father’s house, father and kindred, name - and 
fame — all that she has lost by the name of Front- 
de-Boeuf ! Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, 
and answer me if I speak not truth. Thou hast been 
my evil angel, and I will be thine: I will dog thee 
till the very instant of dissolution!” 

“Detestable fury!” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, “that 
moment shalt thou never witness. Ho! Giles, Clem- 
ent, and Eustace! St. Maur and Stephen; seize this 


114 


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damned witch, and hurl her from the battlements 
headlong; she has betrayed us to the Saxon! Ho! 
St. 'Maul! Clement! false-hearted knaves, where 
tarry ye?’* 

“Call on them again, valiant baron,” said the hag, 
with a smile of grisly mockery; “summon thy 
vassals around thee, doom them that loiter to the 
scourge and the dungeon. But know, mighty chief,” 
she continued, suddenly changing her tone, “thou 
shalt have neither answer, nor aid, nor obedience 
at their hands. Listen to these horrid sounds,” for 
the din of the recommenced assault and defense 
now rung fearfully loud from the battlements of 
the castle; “in that war-cry is the downfall of thy 
house. The blood-cemented fabric of Front-de- 
Boeuf’s power totters to the foundation, and before 
the foes he most despised! The Saxon, Reginald! — 
the scorned Saxon assails thy walls ! Why liest 
thou here, like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon 
storms thy place of strength?” 

“Gods and fiends!” exclaimed the wounded knight. 
“Oh, for one moment’s strength, to drag myself to 
the melee, and perish as becomes my name!” 

“Think not of it, valiant warrior!” replied she; 
“thou shalt die no soldier’s death, but perish like 
the fox in his den, when the peasants have set fire 
to the cover around it.” 

“Hateful hag! thou liest!” exclaimed Front-de- 
Boeuf; “my followers bear them bravely — my walls 
are strong and high — my comrades in arms fear not 
a whole host of Saxons, were they headed by Hen- 
gist and Horsa! The war-cry of the Templar and 


IVANHOE 


115 


of the Free Companions rises high over the conflict! 
And by mine honour, when we kindle the blazing 
beacon for joy of our defense, it shall consume thee, 
body and bones; and I shall live to hear thou art 
gone from earthly fires to those of that Hell which 
never sent forth an incarnate fiend more utterly 
diabolical !” 

“Hold thy belief,” replied Ulrica, “till the proof 
reach thee. But no I” she said, interrupting herself, 
“thou shall know even now the doom which all thy 
power, strength, and courage is unable to avoid, 
though it is prepared for thee by this feeble hand. 
Markest thou the smouldering and suffocating vapor 
which already eddies in sable folds through the 
chamber? Didst thou think it was but the darken- 
ing of thy bursting eyes, the difficulty of thy cum- 
bered breathing? No! Front-de-Boeuf, there is an- 
other cause. Rememberest thou the magazine of 
fuel that is stored beneath these apartments?” 

“Woman!” he exclaimed with fury, “thou has not 
set fire to it? By Heaven, thou hast, and the cas- 
tle is in flames!” 

“They are fast rising at least,” said Ulrica, with 
frightful composure; “and a signal shall soon wave 
to warn the besiegers to press hard upon those who 
would extinguish them. Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf I 
May Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock, gods of the 
ancient Saxons — fiends, as the priests now call 
them — supply the place of comforters at your dy- 
ing bed, which Ulrica now relinquishes ! But 
know, if it will give thee comfort to know it, that 
Ulrica is bound to the same dark coast with thy- 


116 


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self, the companion of thy punishment as the com- 
panion of thy guilt. And now, parricide, farewell 
for ever ! May each stone of this vaulted, roof find 
a tongue to echo that title into thine ear!” 

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de- 
Boeuf could hear the crash of the ponderous key 
as she locked and double-locked the door behind 
her, thus cutting off the most slender chance of 
escape. In the extremity of agony, he shouted upon 
his servants and allies : “Stephen and St. Maur I 
Clement and Giles! I burn here unaided! To the 
rescue — to the rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, valiant 
De Bracy! It is Front-de-Boeuf who calls! It is 
your master, ye traitor squires! Your ally — ^your 
brother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights! 
All the curses due to traitors upon your recreant 
heads, do you abandon me to perish thus misera- 
bly! They hear me not — they cannot hear me — 
my voice is lost in the din of battle. The smoke 
rolls thicker and thicker, the fire has caught upon 
the floor below. Oh, for one draught of the air 
of heaven, were it to be purchased by instant an- 
nihilation!” And in the mad frenzy of despair, 
the wretch now shouted with the shouts of the 
fighters, now muttered curses on himself, on man- 
kind, and on Heaven itself. “The red fire flashes 
through the thick smoke !” he exclaimed ; “the 
demon marches against me under the banner of 
his own element. Foul spirit, avoid! I go not 
with thee without my comrades — all, all are thine 
that garrison these walls. Thinkest thou Front-de- 
Boeuf will be singled out to go alone? No; the 


IVANHOE 


117 


infidel Templar, the licentious De Bracy, Ulrica, the 
foul murdering strumpet, the men who aided my 
enterprises, the dog Saxons and accursed Jews 
who are my prisoners — all, all shall attend me — a 
goodly fellowship as ever took the downward 
road. Ha, ha, ha!” and he laughed in his frenzy 
till the vaulted roof rang again. “Who laughed 
there?” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, in altered mood, 
for the noise of the conflict did not prevent the 
echoes of his own mad laughter from returning 
upon his ear — “who laughed there? Ulrica, was 
it thou ? Speak, witch, and I forgive thee ; for 
only thou or the Fiend of Hell himself could have 
laughed at such a moment. Avaunt — avaunt!” 

But it were impious to trace any farther the pic- 
ture of the blasphemer and parricide’s death-bed. 

IX. 

THE FINAL SCENES. 

(At last, when the castle falls, the Black Knight 
rescues Ivanhoe, but Bois-Guilbert escapes with his 
prize, Rebecca.) 

Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse 
still continued to fight desperately with the be- 
siegers, after the departure of the Templar, but 
.rather in despair of quarter than that they enter- 
tained any hope of escape. The fire was spreading 
rapidly through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica, 
who had first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in 
the guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling forth 


118 


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a war song, such as was of yore raised on the 
field of battle by the scalds of the yet heathen 
Saxons. Her long dishevelled gray hair flew back 
from her uncovered head ; the inebriating delight 
of gratified vengeance contended in her eyes with 
the fire of insanity; and she brandished the distaff 
which she held in her hand, as if she had been one 
of the Fatal Sisters who spin and abridge the 
thread of human life. Tradition has preserved 
some wild strophes of the barbarous hymn which 
she chanted wildly amid that scene of fire and of 
slaughter : 

Whet the bright steel. 

Sons of the White Dragon! 

Kindle the torch, 

Daughter of Hengist! 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the ban- 
quet. 

It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber. 

It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croaks 1 
Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling! 

Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon! 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist! 

The black cloud is low over the thane’s castle; 

The eagle screams — he rides on its bosom. 

Scream not, gray rider of the sable cloud. 

Thy banquet is prepared! 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth, 


IVANHOE 


119 


The race of Hengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla! 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls, 

Many a helmed head. 

Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle, 

The black clouds gather round; 

Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant! 
The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest 
against them. 

He, the bright consumer of palaces, 

Broad waves he his blazing banner; 

Red, wide and dusky, 

Over the strife of the valiant; 

His joy is in the clashing swords and broken buck- 
lers; 

He loves to lick the hissing blood as it burst warm 
from the wound! 

All must perish! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet; 

The strong armour is pierced by the lance; 

Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes; 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

All must perish! 

The race of Hengist is gone — 

The name of Horsa is no more! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the 
sword ! 

Let your blades drink blood like wine; 

Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, 

By the light of the blazing halls! 


120 


SCOTT 


Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, 
And spare neither for pity nor fear, 

For vengeance hath but an hour; 

Strong hate itself shall expire! 

I also must perish! 

The towering flames had now surmounted every 
obstruction, and rose to the evening skies one 
huge and burning beacon, seen far and wide 
through the adjacent country. Tower after tower 
crashed down, with blazing roof and rafter; and 
the combatants were driven from the courtyard. 
The vanquished, of whom very few remained, scat- 
tered and escaped into the neighboring wood. The 
victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with won- 
der, not unmixed with fear, upon the flames, in 
which their own ranks and arms glanced dusky 
red. The maniac figure of the Saxon Ulrica was 
for a long time visible on the lofty stand she had 
chosen, tossing her arms abroad with wild exultation, 
as if she reigned empress of the conflagration which 
she had raised. At length, with a terrific crash, the 
whole turret gave way, and she perished in the 
flames which had consumed her tyrant. An awful 
pause of horror silenced each murmur of the 
armed spectators, who, for the space of several 
minutes, stirred not a finger, save to sign the cross. 
The voice of Locksley was then heard : “Shout, 
yeoman! the den of tyrants is no more! Let each 
bring his spoil to our chosen place of rendezvous 
at the trysting-tree in the Harthill Walk; for 
there at break of day will we make just partition 


IVANHOE 121 

among our own bands, together with our worthy 
allies in this great deed of vengeance.” 

(The Templar conceals Rebecca in the preceptory 
of Templestowe; but it happens that the Grand 
Master of the Order of Templars is visiting there, 
and accidentally hears of her presence. To save 
the reputation of Bois-Guilbert and the order from 
scandal, he tries her as a witch and condemns her 
to death. She, however, demands a champion, and 
sends word to Ivanhoe. Bois-Guilbert was chosen 
to defend the honor of the Templars. 

The day advances, and no champion appears in 
the lists, where all are waiting. At the last mo- 
ment, however, comes Ivanhoe. His steed is 
wearied with hard riding, but he insists on trying 
conclusions with Bois-Guilbert. Ivanhoe is un- 
horsed ; but to the surprise of all Bois-Guilbert 
reels in his saddle and falls, and in a moment Ivan- 
hoe’s foot is on his breast. He is dead, however, 
killed by his own violent emotions. 

And now arrives on the scene the Black Knight, 
too late to take part in this last adventure. And 
now he declares himself to be Richard Plantagenet, 
King of England, and receives the homage of his 
followers, as a short time before he has received that 
of the gallant outlaw, Robin Hood and his band, 
whom he has led so successfully against the Norman 
barons who are the King’s secret enemies, support- 
ers of the seditious cause of his brother John, which 
now falls to pieces by its own weakness. 


122 


SCOTT 


Ivanhoe marries Rowena ; and Rebecca buries 
her love in a secluded town in Spain.) 


(Final note: Many have wondered why Ivanhoe 
was not made to marry Rebecca instead of the less 
interesting Rowena. The fact is, she was a Jewess, 
in spite of all her good qualities, and the condi- 
tions of the times would not permit a man like 
Ivanhoe, one of King Richard’s earls and noble 
supporters, to enter into a union of this kind.) 


THE ART of 
WRITING SPEAKING 

m ENGLISH 
LANGUAGE 

SHERWIN CODY 


These five volumes contain Sherwin Cody’s 
home-study training courses in Correct English 
and Effective Composition, formerly sold in type- 
written form for $15 to $25 for each course. The 
books will be found in thousands of business 
offices throughout the country, including those 
of Marshall Field & Co., Lyon & Healy, Mont- 
gomery Ward & Co., Sears, Roebuck & Co., etc., 
etc. The courses here contained are as follows: 

1. Word-Study — Principles of the dictionary in 
a nutshell; the only home-study course in spelling 
and the formation of words. 

2. Grammar — Simplified — gives you a little rule 
of thumb by which in an instant you can test 
the correctness of any sentence. 

3. Punctuation — A few rules any one can mas- 
ter and remember, that will help out on all oc- 


casions. 


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4 . Composition and Rhetoric — Franklin's meth- 
od of getting the knack of using words effectively 
— the only practical way of enlarging one’s vo- 
cabulary and getting ease and freedom of ex- 
pression. 

5. Literary Journalism, Short Story Writing, 
Creative Composition — Mr. Cody’s original trea- 
tise, the first analysis of the technique of fiction 
ever published (brought out m England as “How 
to Write Fiction”), of which Zangwill said in the 
Pall Mall Magazine, “It is the most sensible 
treatise on the short story that has yet appeared 
in England, a country that has not yet realized 
that story-writing is an art, and a rare and fine 
art.” 

The Dictionary of Errors is five reference 
books rolled into one, containing all the common 
errors in Grammar, Letter Writing, Pronuncia- 
tion, Spelling, and Use of Words, with alpha- 
betical lists of Words often Mispronounced, 
Words often Misspelled or Misused, etc. Better 
than a dictionary, because it is small enough for 
any one to study and master, yet so complete 
that the editor of the Indianapolis Star writes 
to the author, “I find points on every page I 
never saw in print before.” 

These books are for — 

All Educated Home Students who are rusty on 


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English and want to brush up. President Janies 
of the University of Illinois says he sat up till 
three o’clock in the morning reading them for 
points and suggestions. 

Literary Students — Miss Caroline Beaumont, 
literary editor of the St. Paul Globe, writes, “I 
would not be without them for anything.” 

Teachers — Mr. Cody is master of simple meth- 
ods any teacher will find inspiring and suggestive. 
*‘You have the faculty of making things clear, 
and at the same time vivid and forcible,” says 
Professor Hosic of the Chicago Normal School, 
and Chancellor E. Benjamin Andrews says, 
“Crisp, simple, direct. Your notion of simplify- 
ing grammar is worthy of the widest publicity.” 

Business Men — “I cannot recommend your 
little books too highly to those who desire to 
secure a thorough command of business English,” 
says D. D. Mueller of Cincinnati. “I never travel 
without one of Sherwin Cody’s books in my 
grip,” says dowry Chapman, the advertising ex- 
pert. “You seem to have condensed the experi- 
ence of a lifetime into a few short sentences that 
a business man can master and apply in an in- 
stant,” says W. P. Warren, advertising manager 
for Marshall Field & Co. 

Foreigners — “We have examined many books 
intended to teach a foreigner English, and rec- 


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ommend Sherwin Cody’s 'Art of Writing and 
Speaking’ as the best,” says the New Yorker 
Plattsdeutsche. Used in the University of Swe- 
den, etc. 

Professor Genung of Amherst College writes, 
“Your books are a suggestive, well studied, and 
ably presented treatment of the subject, and 
tempt one to go right to work applying their sug- 
gestions in writing. You have a real talent for 
putting things clearly and simply.” 

The five volumes, $ 2 . 50 ; per volume, 75 cents. 

Sherwin Cody’s School of English, 

Chicago. 


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